


What Happened in Xing

by OutcastDeity



Series: VGA Verse [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Bottom Ling Yao, Cheating, Coming Out, Drama, Ed pining for Roy, Edward Elric Has Issues, Emperor Ling Yao, Explicit Sexual Content, Future Edward Elric /Roy Mustang, Gay Sex, Heterosexual Sex, Internalized Homophobia - light, Ling missing Greed, M/M, Multi, Pining, Post-Promised Day, Prequel to Conversations Over Coffee, Sexual Tension, Sexual exploration, Smut, The Elric kids, Top Edward Elric, Topping from the Bottom, Winry Rockbell is Perfect, everybody swears, lots of smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:53:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25860025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OutcastDeity/pseuds/OutcastDeity
Summary: Seventeen year old Edward Elric, riding on the victory of Promised Day, arrives in Xing ready to research Alkahestry alongside his brother, only to find himself redundant. He seeks solace in the arms of the Emperor of Xing and walks a long, difficult path back to stability.Fills in the gaps between Promised Day and Conversations Over Coffee.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Ling Yao, Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell
Series: VGA Verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1366372
Comments: 26
Kudos: 28





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to the other works in the series but if you are new to the series I suggest reading "Conversations Over Coffee" and "If You're Ever in the East" first.
> 
> ____
> 
> As always I feel the need to apologise for the wait. I expected this story was going to be up a little sooner, but thanks to Covid things ended up a little different.
> 
> I really hope you like it - I know it's not RoyEd but it IS in it's own way.

_You give me half of your life, and I’ll give you half of mine._

Xingdu reeked of overworked and underpaid merchants wrapped up in brightly coloured silks despite the July sun beating down from above. They dragged their carts in at sunrise, and dragged them back out again at sunset, for six out of seven days of the week, marching in unison to a tradition that had been in place in the capital for longer than most of them had been alive. There were no permanent shops in the city, no unsheathed weapons, no motorized auto-mobiles (just the odd horse from the richer merchants) and no showing of skin below the neckline. Every cart had to be taken outside city borders every night, or the palace guards would deal a brutal blow of justice in which the offending shop-keep would never be able to work again. If a weapon were ever drawn inside the city walls, the offender would lose their life. Showing skin would find you in the stocks for the day, used as entertainment for drunkards and children with too much rotten fruit at their disposal. Cars were simply too cumbersome to fit along the winding cobblestoned streets and alleys.

Edward shifted uncomfortably as he followed his brother’s slow amble through the streets. Alphonse looked almost fully healed from the back – the months of physio having broadened his shoulders and thickened his arms; but he still walked with a cane for long journeys, and Ed knew that when he turned to smile at Ed his face would still have the lines of malnourishment from his years imprisoned at the Gate. Ed couldn’t help a wave of sadness washing over him once more at the memory of his brother’s sacrifice, and he quickly began to dart his golden eyes every which way in an attempt to get his mind off the crushing depression that had consumed him in the aftermath of the Promised Day.

All around him were wares being pedalled by traders. All cheap tourist crap; painted ceramic plates showing impressions of the imperial palace; faux-leather journals etched with basic Alkahestry circles that Alphonse scoffed at as he passed; bronzed jewellery with brightly coloured beads; and wax-candles in the shapes of dragons that were melting in the heat of the hottest month of the year. Ed was just admiring a pretty red and gold paper-fan, thinking to himself how nice it would be to have a way to cool down, when a tiny man with a silvery beard and long straggly hair jumped in front of him, brandishing a dragon statue.

“I’ll make good price for golden haired boy.” The merchant promised with a leer.

Ed took a hasty step backwards, rearing away. His shoulder, or more specifically the metal port still embedded in his shoulder, gave an angry pang of protest at the movement. It had been heating up steadily the entire journey across the desert and the outskirts of Xing, and in the oppressive heat of Xingdu the points where metal joined to flesh were beginning to get scarily hot. Ed would give anything for a cool bath to ease his ports. There was a water fountain a few streets back that had been tempting to just crawl into; but again he would be penalised should he show skin – so on top of the scalding hot sun, he had been forced into donning his long cream coat, and gloves.

“He’s not interested.” Alphonse told the merchant in rough Xingese. Ed’s brother had a hand on the merchant’s shoulder, a well-placed scowl on his usually soft features, and as Ed watched he tapped the bottom of his cane once against the trader’s shoe and the Xingese gent quickly scurried away. Alphonse rolled his eyes after the man’s back. “I hate Xingdu.” He huffed.

It was a sentiment they both shared. Edward had been in the country a grand total of two days, and the capital city less than an hour, but he already loathed any city which was as hot as Xingdu was, and wouldn’t allow him to take off his damned shirt. He grimaced at Alphonse with a small shrug, feeling responsible for dragging his brother into the city. Ed had been the one to telephone Al from a dingy hotel and tell his brother to meet him at the outskirts of Xingdu that day. Edward had been the one insistent that should he be in the country he needed to let Ling-Yao know he was around. Alphonse had been justifiably sceptical about disturbing the Emperor, but Ed assured him that Ling would want to know he was about.

“Just keep walking.” He grumbled, glancing up across the lines of carts and low, terracotta roofed buildings, which Alphonse informed him were residential, to where, at the highest point of the city, was the imperial palace.

The palace could be seen from any point within the limits of Xingdu, and was a tourist attraction as well as Ling’s residential address. It had elaborate golden columns, huge steel gates and, stationed every six feet, was a palace guard; dressed in their recognisable black uniform with three golden stripes on their right shoulders, and a white half mask covering the left side of their faces. They must have been baking in the heat, but as Alphonse lead him up the last few streets to the palace walls, not a single one of them moved to wipe the sweat from their brow, or even blinked. If Ed hadn’t known better he would have hazard a guess that they didn’t even breath. All along the line tourists were posing for photos with them, and trying to engage them in conversation, and Ed even saw one kid throw a stone at one of them, and yet they didn’t flinch, or turn their heads, or react in any other way. The dedication was awesome in and of itself.

Alphonse bypassed them, skirting around the edge of the tourists, and made a bee-line for the small palace worker’s gate a few feet down from the huge ornamental gates that most of the crowd was ogling. The worker’s gate had one guard stationed outside it, and a younger man sat in a ticket booth looking bored out of his mind. His mousy brown hair gave him away as not a Xingdu native.

“The next tour is in three days, no tours whilst the Emperor is at home.” The seller told them in fluent Amestrian, without looking up from what looked suspiciously like a dirty magazine. Ed frowned.

“We want to see the Emperor.” Edward told him.

“You and everyone else.” The man muttered, still not bothering to look up. He had a scruffy moustache that Ed could see the remains of his breakfast in. “He tends to do a balcony appearance about three.” He looked at his watch. “Two hours.”

Ed sighed, Alphonse shrugged at him, a look on his face that so clearly said ‘I told you so’ even if Alphonse was too kind to actually say the words.

“I’m Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist.” He introduced himself, although he hadn’t actually _been_ the Fullmetal Alchemist for over a year, he rationalised in his head. Finally the man looked up, he took in Ed’s golden hair and eyes, swept his gaze over Alphonse, and levelled it back on Ed with a smirk.

“Sure, and I’m the Queen of Creta.” He replied, tone so heavily laced with sarcasm Ed could only describe it as dripping. But then Ed was dripping too, with sweat, and he wasn’t in the mood to entertain a bored ticket seller.

“Ling will want to see me.” He advised through gritted teeth.

The man shrugged his shoulders in a helpless gesture that wasn’t really very helpless at all. His uniform was too big on him, Ed noticed, as he watched the movement.

“Got any ID?” He asked, clearly expecting the answer to be no.

Edward paused. He had his pocket watch. Mustang hadn’t asked for it back, that day in his hospital room, staring into space with eerily pale eyes, and Ed had deliberately not reminded him of it. It was nestled in his coat pocket, it’s amplifying effects useless to him now that his gate was de-constructed, but a heavy reminder of his time working for the military nonetheless. He pushed one gloved hand into the deep pocket of his cream coat and lifted it into his palm, feeling the familiar curve of it’s body through gloves.

“Just get the word out to Ling.” He ordered instead of producing it. Alphonse didn’t know that he’d kept it. He definitely didn’t know that Ed had carried it with him all the way across the desert, and had no reasonable explanation as to why. “Let him know I’m here. He’ll know it’s me. Tell him ‘leather goods are still edible’. He’ll know what it means.” He added when the seller made no move to pick up the phone on his desk.

He hoped that pathetic attempt at a code-phrase would be enough to convince Ling the person at the gate claiming to be the Fullmetal Alchemist was actually Edward. Ed had never told anyone outside of Alphonse the particulars of what had happened inside Gluttony’s black-hole stomach, and if Ling had kept similarly quiet, then there was every chance their brief foray into attempting to eat Ed’s shoe was enough of a clue. But the man on the desk shook his head, levelling Edward with another disbelieving look.

“Look – _Stanley_ -” Ed huffed, shuffling closer to the booth and quickly glancing down at the name-badge nestled on the seller’s chest. He resented the glass between them that stopped him getting closer and acting more threatening. “Either you can use that phone to call someone in the palace and get word to Ling that an old friend is here, or I can de-construct this booth, break down the material of your clothes and let the guards put you in stocks completely god-damn _naked_.” He hissed.

It was total lies, of course. He couldn’t de-construct shit, and there was no way Alphonse was going to act as his personal alchemy-provider; especially not when Ed’s request was so threatening. Alphonse was too sweet for that. But something evil in his eyes must have shown through the glass protecting the seller, because he gulped nervously and reached for the phone. With a small grumble he punched through to someone in the palace.

“Yeah, hey, I gotta whack-job here telling me he’s the Fullmetal Alchemist… yeah, the _Promised Day Hero_. Yeah. Okay.” He spoke into the phone, in Xingese, but Ed had studied the language before he left. His words made Ed feel all too hot in a way that had nothing to do with the sun or his modesty-coat. He hated that ‘Promised Day Hero’ rumour that had been circulating since he’d given up his Alchemy, and he had hoped somewhat he would be able to avoid it in Xing. It appeared he had no such luck. “Yeah I know, but I figure we need to let the Emperor decide whether we kick him to the curb or not. He said to tell his majesty that leather goods are still edible… yeah, beats me.”

The man in the booth gave Ed a sickly sweet smile, and pointed at the phone. _On hold,_ he mouthed with one raised eyebrow and a look in his eyes like he thought Ed was pulling his chain, and in a few short minutes he’d have the pleasure of watching the palace guards haul him away. If his code-phrase was passable, however, Ed figured he would be in no danger of the public humiliation of being escorted out by guards. As such, he tapped his real foot against the floor impatiently, until Stanley smirked into the receiver and nodded.

“You got it.” He mumbled in Xingese in to the phone before hanging up and sending Ed another simpering smile. “Someone will be down shortly to escort you inside.” He promised.

Ed sighed in relief, nodding to the seller, and turned to Al with a triumphant grin. _He_ wasn’t above relishing in his victory.

“Ha, told you so.” He grinned.

Alphonse rolled his eyes, leaning heavily on his cane. Standing still for too long often resulted in his back aching from the strain. Ed glanced around for somewhere to let his brother rest, but there were no public benches anywhere near the palace. He could only hope their escort would arrive promptly. He scanned back across the palace courtyard through the smaller employee’s entrance, which still consisted of heavy iron gates, and saw someone exiting through a small cream door that blended so perfectly into the exterior wall that Ed hadn’t even realised it was a door until it opened. That person cut an elegant line across the courtyard towards them, and as they grew closer Ed realised he was looking at a woman of about thirty, who, as she reached the gate, assessed him with cold black eyes that had slightly smudged charcoal around them, making them look even darker and colder.

“I’m Edward Elric.” He told her through the gate. She rose a shapely eyebrow at him and said nothing, her lips a thin line of disapproval. “Stanely here said you were here to escort us? My brother isn’t very stable on his feet.” He added to move her along.

She glanced behind him to Alphonse, who grimaced in her direction, still relying on his cane. After a moment, she produced a key and unlocked the gate, but instead of ushering them inside, she stepped out. Edward took a step backwards. The woman had jet black hair in a pixie cut that made her features quite striking, and was wearing a long, pale blue Hanfu dress with a navy belt. The wide sleeves fell past her fingertips, and the hem-line brushed at the toes of her shoes, which, when Ed looked down, appeared to be steel-toe capped. He took another step backwards. At first sight she looked like any typical palace attendant, but clearly, she was not.

Her dark eyes parried between Ed and Al, sizing them up, and a moment later she had contorted her elegant body into a low crouch, and struck out with the palm of her hand into Ed’s abdomen. He gasped, winded, and heard Alphonse shout in shock, and then she had twisted around herself, sweeping out with her ankle, which couldn’t have had much manoeuvrability under her long skirt, and had swept Ed off his feet with a blow to the backs of his shins; landing him painfully on his back on the street.

He really was out of practise, he thought to himself as he found himself staring at the sky, and a moment later Alphonse had landed beside him with a pained ‘oof’.

“He’s _disabled_.” He huffed angrily, just as the woman grabbed him by the front of his cream coat and hauled him back up. With surprising strength she span him around, kicked at the back of his knees until he was buckled forwards on to them, and had secured his hands behind his back with what felt like leather cuffs. Ed spat on the floor. “Let me go you crazy bitch!”

The woman hit him up the side of his head, and Ed glared as he was forced to watch her haul Alphonse into a similar position.

“You could have tried fighting back, you know.” The older brother huffed as Alphonse landed on his knees beside him and was also forced into cuffs. “Made a spear or something from the stone underfoot.”

Alphonse clicked his tongue.

“More your style than mine.” He replied in a mumble, “besides, I freaking _told you so_.”

And yeah, Ed had to give him that one.

The woman hauled them back to standing without saying anything and pushed them through the gates with their hands cuffed behind their backs. They went, stumbling, across the courtyard, and a glance behind him revealed that the tourists at the imperial gates were now clambering to take photographs of the two golden-haired boys being frog-marched into the palace by a petite lady in a pretty Hanfu. She had picked up Alphonse’s cane and was using it to poke and prod them in to movement, and Ed could see that each step without the support was costing his brother dearly. Angrily, he ducked his head down, glaring at the dusty courtyard floor, until he was unceremoniously pushed through the cream door and inside the building.

They entered in to what appeared to be a busy kitchen, with various ovens all in use and lots of plump ladies in hairnets and uniform blue aprons bustling about getting things ready. There was pots boiling everywhere, women chopping vegetables left, right and centre, and to one side a rack which appeared to be full of hanging game-birds. No one appeared to be bothered by the appearance of the woman and her two captives, although one chef did yell ‘heavy pot!’ in Xingese as she passed, putting her back to them, and the woman who had attacked them was forced into dragging Ed back by his shoulder to manoeuvre him out of the way. Their captor lead them right through the kitchen, out a large door on the other side, and they appeared in a long, wide corridor. It felt as if it must have been at least a hundred feet long, and fifteen feet wide, and was carpeted in a deep shade of red, elaborately decorated with gold thread that. When looking closely, Ed realised the thread was stitched into dragon scales. Every twenty feet was a cluster of chairs in delicate shades of cream, and hanging from the ceiling was a crystal chandelier over every cluster. Ed was still admiring the immensity of what was one corridor in a much larger palace, when he was jostled by the woman dragging him back by the cuffs on his wrists behind him, and pushed along the long corridor towards a magnificent set of stairs. The craftsmanship on the banister alone was enough to have Ed stunned into shocked silence. Each spindle was a traditional Xingese dragon; some breathing fire, others simply looked wise and regal. On every marble step was a lion or flock of cranes carved into the riser. He and his brother were pushed into climbing them. Then, along another insane corridor, before they found themselves outside an ornate set of doors. Ed couldn’t touch them and feel the chemical make up of them any more, even if his hands weren’t secured behind him, but looking at it he could tell they were made of an expensive wood, like mahogany or oak.

The woman knocked. Three succinct raps, and then stood back, glaring daggers at her captives to make sure they weren’t about to make a run for it. Ed wouldn’t have tried anyway – he could only hope was being bought to the Emperor, who would sort this misunderstanding out, and not the head of security, who might just behead them. Ed knew that if it came to it Alphonse could slip the cuffs and save them. He might have been disabled, but he was still an Elric.

“Enter.” commanded a voice that Ed didn’t recognise. He took a deep breath, readying himself for a fight, but as the doors swung open they revealed a cosy office, decked out with a large, dark-wood desk, and many fancy, cream coloured chairs, and behind the desk: Ling Yao.

There was also a heavily built man with close-cropped hair and a frown on his face who assessed them quickly with calculating eyes as they were pushed forwards into entering. It must have been he who had given the order to come in. Ling was perusing some paperwork, but he finally looked up, and when he did, his face broke in to a delighted grin. Ed let out the breath he didn’t realise he had been holding.

“You should have written.” The Emperor admonished. Ed shrugged as best he could with his hands tied behind his back.

“I’d appreciate it if you could call your dog off.” He replied.

Ling looked surprised, and then seemed to properly take the Elrics in for the first time, noting their tied hands. His gaze slipped to the woman who had bought them here.

“You detained them, Sheng?” He asked in Xingese.

The woman nodded. Ling appraised her silently. Then:

“Come to my rooms after supper tonight, dear.” He ordered. The woman bowed her head lowly.

“Your Majesty.” She replied, her voice gentle in a way that Ed could attest she certainly _wasn’t_ , and she excused herself, bowing backwards out of the room and shutting the heavy wooden doors behind her.

Ling rose from his spot behind the desk. He was dressed in a long, golden robe embroidered with black in the shape of cranes, and his long hair had been left down to accommodate a tall, rather ridiculous looking hat. Edward wanted to laugh, but weirdly the monstrosity made him feel smaller than usual, and had him cowed into realising the man in front of him was not just the friend he had made before Promised Day, but also the leader of the largest and most powerful dynasty in the world. His laughter died in his throat.

“Alphonse.” Ling greeted, arms outstretched as if welcoming a hug, as he reached them.

Neither blonde made any effort to accept the offered embrace. A flash and crackle sounded beside him and a moment later Alphonse was massaging his newly freed hands. He stumbled to Ed and freed him too, before gingerly bending to receive the cane their captor had discarded on the floor. As he did, Ling took Edward’s hands in his own, his thumbs brushing over Ed’s gloved knuckles, and he showed Ed a serene smile.

“Edward,” He breathed, voice pitched low, “It has been far too long, my friend.”

Ed’s hands felt far too sweaty through his gloves. He quickly pulled them a way again, feeling flushed at the emperor’s wistful greeting. He wouldn’t put it past Ling to have stolen his wallet in the time it took Ed to gather his wits. Ling smiled at them with his calculating eyes.

“You must be roasting in your skins!” He remarked, looking down at Ed’s long coat and gloves, and Alphonse’s thinner, white, long-sleeved cotton shirt, which had a darkening sweat patch right down the back. “You must allow me to pamper you a little. The least I could do after all we’ve been through, and my slightly overzealous guard’s treatment of you today.”

Ed’s heart fluttered nervously at the idea of pampering and what that entailed. His bones ached to relax, the ports around his auto-mail singeing the connected skin and begging for a lukewarm bath to cool off in. He’d heard stories about the palace baths – how they were always the perfect temperature, how they were waited on by beautiful girls. He had travelled what felt like thousands of miles after all; a nice long soak would do him the world of good. He was half way through agreeing when Alphonse cleared his throat meaningfully.

“We have research to attend to. Brother really just wanted to stop by and let you know he was in town.” He explained, giving Ed a meaningful look. Ed’s heart clenched tightly in his chest in a familiar, devastating way.

Ed had dragged Alphonse away from his obsessive researching alongside Mei in order to meet him at Xingdu and go on Ed’s little field-trip, and it was clear as day that the younger Elric was itching to get back to the books. As far as Edward understood it, Alphonse had spent the last few months travelling from clan to clan with Mei, interviewing the best Alkahestrist in the country to find out all the could about the Dragon’s Pulse. Edward was putting a spanner in the works by showing up in Xing at all. He’d known that, too; had thought about it the entire way across the desert. He knew he was little more than a burden on his little brother now. He knew that Alphonse had his own life beyond a shared goal of retrieving their bodies from the gate. It just all seemed so new and foreign to Ed, who had been working on the same mission since he had hit double-digits, and who had been floundering uselessly since Promised Day. Ed had travelled to Xing to help with research, as after all research was a speciality of his, but Alphonse couldn’t have made it more obvious in his letters how well he was doing without his older brother. And although Edward had spent the entire journey re-thinking and re-thinking and re-thinking how not-needed he was, he hadn’t been able to make himself turn around.

Because brotherhood was all he’d ever known.

And Alphonse knew that too, which was why he had relented and travelled to Xingdu to meet Edward, and dragged himself away from Mei and research and the reason he had travelled to Xing in the first place. Because Alphonse knew Edward needed him; needed him close enough to touch him and just make sure he was still breathing, and that despite everything else Ed had messed up; at least Alphonse was okay.

“Surely your research can wait a few hours whilst you cool off and have something to eat. The chefs always cook far too much; I would be honoured to dine with the Heroes of the Promised Day.” Ling smooth-talked, sending Alphonse a winning smile.

Ed flushed at hearing that ridiculous title again. He glanced at his brother, who looked no more willing to agree to stay a few hours than Ed felt willing to immediately move on to research. Having just spent the last two days traversing the desert, the idea of a cool bath and a bit of pampering held a tempting appeal. But Al hadn’t come to Xing to stand still, and it was obvious he expected Ed to say no to Ling. Except… Alphonse didn’t quite understand the complexities of Ed’s relationship with Ling.

Alphonse had spent the months leading up to Promised Day away from Ed, and although Edward had filled him in, his recounting could never match the real details of the time he had spent travelling the country with Greed and two Chimera’s. Although Alphonse had heard that Ed had spent night after night camping out under the stars, he hadn’t realised that with no blankets sometimes the only warmth came from curling up next to a transformed Heinkel. Although Alphonse had been told that Edward had sworn his allegiance to Greed in an attempt to get the Homunculus onside, he didn’t understand that that meant putting up with Greed’s… well, greed. He didn’t know that sometimes Ed was talking to Greed, and other times he almost felt as if he was talking to Ling, and the lines blurred between the two personalities so often that Ed had often come to think of them as one and the same. He didn’t understand that Edward had a particularly difficult time saying no to Greed, or Ling; especially not when it was something he wanted too.

“A couple of hours can’t hurt, Al.” He added in unity, thinking of the bath. Alphonse frowned at him, but when Ed returned the look with a slight amount of pleading, his brother sighed and relented. As always.

“A couple of hours.” He agreed, tone solemn.

Ling clapped his hands delightedly.

“Remove your coat Edward.” He ordered, taking the backpack Ed had been carrying around all day off of Ed's back and flinging it down on the study floor to be dealt with by servants. “Xingdu rules don’t apply inside the palace. Not for you.”

He began walking swiftly out of the study, down the corridor, and back down the stairs they had come up. Edward and Al followed after, tripping over themselves slightly as Ed removed his coat and gloves, trying to bite back a happy moan at how good it felt to finally have his flesh free of the restrictive, oppressive clothes. Underneath he was only wearing a dark blue tank top, and he was glad to be rid of the sleeves of his coat, even if he was now the most naked person in the entire palace. As he moved along the corridor after Ling many people stared at him – a combination of his golden hair and his now on-show arms making him something interesting to perceive. Then, slightly up ahead of them, past the kitchen door they had come through into the palace, Ling turned right and showed them into a room with wooden benches and a shower. It seemed small compared to the enormity of the palace, but in reality it too was huge.

Ed could already smell the sweet perfumes of a bath-house, and his muscles throbbed with urgency to sink himself down in to the cool water. There was a slatted wooden door across the room where steam was billowing into the chamber, and Ed was certain beyond it lay the baths of legend.

“Sit.” Ling ordered, putting a tiny amount of pressure on Ed’s shoulder so that the blonde sank down on to a wooden slatted bench with a small whimper of pleasure at getting off his feet.

Alphonse lowered himself more gingerly on to the bench opposite him, placing his cane down beside him, and Ed watched as his brother finally removed his gloves and began unbuttoning the cotton shirt that was sticking to his skin. He peeled the cotton from his shoulders and folded it neatly, placing it on the bench next to the cane. His chest and stomach were toned from a rigorous physio regime, but his muscle was sinewy from how long he had been surviving off of second-hand energy. Not for the first time, Edward wished he had been able to eat more during the time Alphonse was stuck in the gate. If he had had any proof that he was providing the sustenance for his brother’s withered body, he would have eaten himself into a food-coma every night. A familiar wave of guilt washed over him. Alphonse quirked his lips up into a small smile, looking across at Ed, and silently Ed slid his boot across the tiled floor and knocked his brother’s foot with it. Alphonse rolled his eyes at Edward’s need for physical reassurance that his brother was real, but said nothing, and did not move away. For that the older brother was eternally grateful.

Then he jumped out of his skin as cool fingers skimmed at the bottom hem of his tank top and travelled upwards over his back.

“Ling!” He admonished, mortified, as Ling bunched the material of his tank up under his arms.

“I asked you to allow me to pamper you, Edward.” He shot back smoothly. “You can not enter a bath clothed. Besides, you need to clean. If you’ll forgive my saying so, you smell as if you have just spent days in the desert!”

Edward jumped to his feet, grappling for his top, and pulling it back down over his stomach protectively, swivelling to face the Emperor.

“I have.” He mumbled. “And I can undress myself.”

Ling looked at him critically for a moment more, as if assessing whether Ed’s claims of dressing-competency were to be believed, and then finally nodded his head in acquiescence.

“Then I shall have the shower waters warmed for you, and get the girls to mix some lavender and tea-tree together.” He promised, turning his back on the Elrics.

As soon as he did Edward pulled his tank over his shoulders, leaving him in dark slacks and his boots. He sank down on to the other bench beside his brother with a sigh and shot a quick ‘shut it’ out the corner of his mouth when it became obvious Al was fighting the urge to laugh at his jittery response to the Emperor. Alphonse held up his hands in mock surrender, then bent to unlace his Oxfords. Edward watched as Ling exited through another door that melted into the wall around it and hadn’t been noticed on the way in, and relaxed as it swung shut behind the man.

“Will Mei be okay? Whilst we bath...” Ed mumbled, thinking to himself that to try and explain why he wished to remain in the palace would be too convoluted for Alphonse to understand. Especially when Edward didn’t really understand it himself, beyond not desiring to travel any further so quickly.

Al shrugged.

“I left her looking into an elusive Alkahestrist in Shao-Tan.” He replied, slipping off his shoes and using his big toe on one foot to hook the sock of his other foot off. “She doesn’t really need me to conduct interviews… but brother… we can’t stay the night.”

Ed didn’t look up from where he was unlacing his boots, but he stilled at the implication his brother had made.

“I didn’t intend to.” He replied stoically. Al hummed gently.

“Sure.” He said. “One bath, because I know the automail gets to you.”

Ed had successfully kicked off his boots. His right foot was covered in a sweat-soaked sock, but he rarely covered his automail foot before putting on his boots, because the fibres from the socks sometimes got stuck in the joints of the toes, and it was more of a pain than it was worth. It also meant he didn’t have to buy as many pairs of socks, since they lasted him twice as long. There was always a bright side, after all. He peeled off the sock and wiggled the toes of his right foot, but didn’t bother extending the energy to get the same reaction from his metal one.

“Okay.” He agreed readily.

A moment later the door Ling had left through opened again to reveal two beautiful women in their early twenties, both dressed in light coloured Hanfu and walking elegantly on their toes. One was carrying a tray of towels and expensive looking soaps and oils, and the other a large urn that Ed assumed was filled with warm water. They knelt before them.

“Allow us to attend you, Misters.” They spoke in soft voices, in accented Amestrian.

Edward looked up over their shoulders to see Ling entering again, flocked on either side by more pretty ladies in Hanfu, that were starting the process of removing the Emperor’s fancy robes. Alphonse must have nodded because the woman kneeling in front of him rose from her knees, and began massaging a sweetly fragrant soap over his brother’s taut shoulders. Ed swallowed, feeling awkward, and nodded too. The woman before him had long, wavy black hair and the barest hint of hazel in her very dark irises. Her cheeks were reddened and her lips were shiny with some kind of gloss, and she was pale enough that the make-up made her look like a porcelain doll. She carefully arranged herself, collecting a soft sponge and an oily looking soap in a small dish, and made her way behind Ed, where she began lathering the scented oil into the skin on his back, using gentle finger tips, before wiping it away with the sponge. Her fingers all seemed to work independently from each other, giving the illusion that there were ten hands on him, instead of just two, and his head lolled to the side gratefully as she worked oil and sponge across his shoulders and neck, working out some of the tension of travel. She rubbed a firm circle into the bony knob at the base of his neck, and them smoothed her palms down across his shoulders, pausing momentarily on the port still embedded on the right.

“Does this hurt, sir?” She asked in a calm voice. Ling cleared his throat meaningfully from across the room, and Ed glanced up to see him glaring at the attendant behind Ed. “My apologies.” She quickly added, hand fluttering away from his shoulder.

“No, it’s alright.” Ed assured her, reaching across himself to capture her hand and press it back down on to the port. He kept eye-contact with Ling as he did so, and wondered for how long the Emperor had been watching him be massaged. His gaze dropped back to his lap. “It doesn’t hurt generally. The heat has been making it very uncomfortable.” He explained.

The attendant ran her clever fingers over the metal, tracing the old scars from the day he had lost his arms, and the newer ones from the surgeries Pinako had done for him to help his mobility after his arm had reattached over the port. Those ones were still a little tender, but he’d had enough pain in his life that he never would have shown how uncomfortable he was from her touches. After a moment, she pulled away.

“Please remove your remained garments, sir.” She instructed, “I shall give you a towel for modesty. Then I may wash your hair.”

Ed felt his temperature rise before it flurried into being as a flush on his skin, across his shoulders, up his neck and over his ears and cheeks. He logically knew he couldn’t enjoy a bath without getting naked – at least not in Xing. In Amestris there were a couple of public baths, but the custom was to keep swimming trunks on. In Xing it was bare. If he had only been in the room with his brother he wouldn’t have thought twice about stripping down – but there were four women and the Emperor of Xing in the room. He quickly glanced across to see Ling was now only wearing a towel across his hips, and was sat whilst two pretty ladies worked shampoo through his long hair. Alphonse was being presented with a towel as well, and when he looked behind him, at least the attendants had turned to face the wall.

With a slightly panicked glance at Alphonse, which was returned with a shrug, the two removed their trousers, tied their towels around their waists, and shimmied out of their underwear.

“I hardly think you have a need for shyness, Edward.” Ling told him from across the room, making Ed jump slightly again. He was looking at Ed’s legs with lowered eyes, and the blonde quickly sat down again, reeling a little from a memory Ling’s words had jogged.

_I don’t see why you wanna act shy, kid._

It hadn’t been Ling that  had  said that, of course, but Greed.  A year ago, before Promised Day. Ed had figured that seeing Ling would involve being reminded often of Greed and the long days before the final battle in Central.  Sometimes he forgot just how similar Ling and Greed truly were. 

“Let’s just get in the bath already.” He deflected, brow creasing, as the woman behind him upended a jug of warm water over his hair and washed away the last of the shampoo she had been massaging into his scalp. She nodded in agreement.

“You are ready, sir.”

He didn’t need any more persuading. He stood once more from the bench, and then held out a hand to help Al up, who took it gratefully, and when Ling lead the way towards the wooden slatted door, his hips swaying slightly under the small white towel covering them, they followed eagerly.

Behind the door was, really, the stuff of legends. Ed could barely contain a gasp as he followed Ling through into a wide open chamber held up by intricately carved marble columns, with deep recesses in the elegantly tiled floor, making up a total of five swimming pool size baths and one smaller, rounded bath that was still plenty big enough for four people to sit and relax. Steam was rising into the air, and all around were attendants in long, white, floaty dresses, cinched in at the waist with a bronzed belt, pouring more hot water into the baths, or wafting scented incense sticks through the air. Edward watched a young boy that can’t have been any older than he was testing the temperature of the smallest bath – the lightweight material of his floaty tunic draping across the line of his back and arse as he bent over – and then quickly looked away.

“This way.” Ling smiled at them,  leading them to one of the larger baths and stepping into via an ostentatious marble staircase with a golden handrail that dipped down below the steamy waterline.  He stepped into the water until his ankles were being lapped at, and then  Ling removed his towel, placing it on the tiles beside the pool, and it was instantly swept away by another beautiful attendant.  The Emperor began to descend into the bath, naked as the day he was born, his long wet hair trailing down his slim, pale back and drawing the eye further down to an incredibly pert bottom. 

Ling looked back over his shoulder at Ed, and Ed quickly snapped his eyes back up to the Emperor’s face. That one look almost felt like a challenge.

Ed waded into the water after his friend, wishing Ling would avert his gaze, suddenly incredibly aware of the palace workers dotted about, all seemingly busy but surely as aware of him as he was of them? Would it be rude to wait until he was fully under the water to discard his modesty towel? It would mean the towel getting wet – and besides, Ling hadn’t. And that was the challenge, wasn’t it? He sighed, quietly, because it wouldn’t do to have the Emperor or his brother know of his nervousness, and held eye-contact with Ling, hoping their staring match would mean the Emperor would not be tempted to glance down when Ed revealed all. Although Ed had not shown him the same courtesy – Ling invited looking. Then, at the last moment, he whipped the towel from hi s hips , all but throwing it at the tiles at the side of the pool, and quickly ducked beneath the steamy water that was opaque with soaps. 

“This is the perfect temperature.” Al commented, sinking down beside him. Ed had almost forgotten his brother was present too.

“The bath attendants keep it well kept.” Ling responded amicably, waving Al’s gaze over to a cluster of young men and women that were monitoring the temperature of the pools and pouring in more hot or cold water as needed from large ceramic urns.

There was something mesmerising about them, perhaps it was the way their tunic dresses floated around them, the same flowing uniforms for the men and women. Perhaps it was that every single attendant had entirely unblemished, slightly tanned skin, and silken looking dark hair. Perhaps it was that they were all so young looking, and so dedicated to their tasks. But Ed found it harder and harder to look away from the groups of them going about their jobs – the moisture in the air making the light, white cotton of their dresses flatten against their skins; showing off the curve of a thigh or the outline of a white bra underneath. 

“They are beautiful, are they not?” Ling said by his ear.

Ed jumped again, cursing himself for his reaction to the man, and causing a splash in the water. He wouldn’t have wanted to make his presence in the country known to the Emperor if he had known he would find himself of edge the entire time. He hadn’t been like this with Ling before; back when Ling was Greed.

“I chose each one personally.” Ling carried on.

Ed had heard that the baths were waited on by a host of beautiful young people. It was all part of the legend. And apparently a part Ling wanted to come from truth. He’d heard plenty of other stories about the palace as well – how the imperial guard was the best in the world; how the feasts that were held at the palace daily could feed the smaller clans for a month; how the Emperor had a private legion of concubines.  Ed wondered whether the bath attendants doubled up as bed-warmers for the man currently naked beside him under the waves.

“Ed has a girlfriend at home.” Alphonse replied when Ed couldn’t find his voice. It sounded like a reminder, but Ed hadn’t forgotten Winry.

“Ah, the wonderful miss Rockbell.” Ling supplied with a knowing smirk. “Yes, she truly is beautiful as well. And I imagine quite talented with her hands.”

The comment was lewd, and Ling supported it under the water with a not-so-discrete grip on Ed’s thigh. His leg jolted under the water. When had Ling gotten so close? That was beyond friendly, wasn’t it? Hadn’t Alphonse just informed Ling that Ed wasn’t available? Even if he was interested in men. Which he wasn’t.

“She’s a respectable, kind, amazing woman who I l-love very much.” He assured the Xingese man, swimming backwards slightly to put some distance between them. He berated himself inwardly for the stumble. It wasn’t that he didn’t love her, he told himself, of course he loved her, he’d known her his whole life. He just… had never been very good at proclaiming stuff like that. That’s all.

“ I’m sure.” Ling replied, looking unperturbed. 

He turned to Alphonse then, and began quizzing him on the research he was undertaking with Mei. He listened attentively as Alphonse outlined their hypothesis and how they had been gathering evidence, and then explained that he was more than willing to put some palace money into the affair should he and Mei arrange a scheduled meeting to discuss it further. By the time the two had arranged to see each other more formally in two weeks time, with Ling having to pause to send for a scribe, who wrote down the particulars and promised to move things about to accommodate it should the need arise, half an hour had passed and the skin on Ed’s fingers were beginning to shrivel.

Alphonse, too, looked like he was aware of the passing of time, because he kept checking his arm where he had previously worn a watch, before remembering that he had discarded it in the changing room.

“We really should get back to Mei.” He finally proposed. Edward nodded along. Ling settled back against the tiles of the edge of the bath and surveyed Alphonse for a moment.

“Before you go, there is a book in the palace’s library I think you and miss Chang  might find interesting and helpful.” He explained, and then called over an attendant and began speaking to her in the melodic tones of Xingese that once more Edward was glad he had put some effort into learning. “Qinyang! Please take Mr Elric to the library and find him the book entitled ‘Edge of Dragon, the Power of the Land’ by H. J. Ping.” 

The attendant who has bustled over, who Ed assumed was Qinyang, bowed low, resting on her knees, and smiled at Alphonse.

“I shall show you to the library now sir.” She spoke in Amestrian, and when Alphonse looked like he wasn’t ready to accept the offer she added a gentle “please”.

She produced a towel from a basket nearby and held Al steady as he gripped on the handrail to raise himself from the water without the use of his cane. Ed watched him go until the wooden slatted door to the changing area had closed behind him.

“We should get out too.” Ed excused, already wading towards the steps. “Al will want to leave as soon as he’s got that book.”

“Why did you come here, Ed?”

Ed paused, staring at the escape route, with Ling behind him, and slowly turned back to his friend.

“To help Al with research.” He explained, although he knew that wasn’t what Ling had meant. Sure enough, not two seconds later, Ling  clarified. 

“To the palace. Why did you come to the palace?”

Ed found himself taking a deep, steadying breath. Ling waded closer to him under the water.

“I thought I should let you know… that I was… in the country.” Gods, Ling was getting closer with every word Ed said. If Ed stepped backwards it would be like admitting defeat, but now Ling was so close his face was beginning to blur. Ed’s eyes flickered down to the Emperor’s lips. His hands twitched under the steamy surface of the bath.

“Why?” Ling repeated. His breath ghosted over Ed’s own, mingling between them.

“We hadn’t seen each other since...”

Since two days after Promised Day. When Ed had come stumbling out of a hospital room on the brink of tears and Ling had told him he was returning to Xing to claim his seat as Emperor. Edward had wished him luck and Ling had left with three words of advice on his tongue that Ed still didn’t understand.

_Don’t wait forever_. He’d said, nodding over Ed’s shoulder at the hospital room Ed was running from.

“Ling.” Edward breathed, gaze flickering down to the other man’s lips again. What did it matter why he was here? How long it had been? They had both needed time to sort their lives out after Promised Day, after all.

Then Ling leant forwards, and brushed their lips together, his body moving forwards in the water to melt against Ed’s. For a moment it was perfect. Ed’s eyes fluttered closed; his hands came up to rest of Ling’s hips under the waves. He leaned into the kiss, just using his instincts to fall in to something that felt good.  Ling moaned gently into their joined lips, and cantered his hips forward, looking for friction under the water, and Ed’s vision cleared.

He pushed the Emperor away whilst also shimmying backwards, mortified with himself.

“I’m not -”

“Interested?” Ling supplied.

“In men.” Ed added.

Ling laughed. Ed stood there in the water, shocked for a moment and not sure what to do with that reaction.

“Please.” The dark-haired man chucked after a moment. “That’s not the issue here.”

“I’m not.” Ed insisted.

Ling leant back against the edge of the bath languidly, looking unaffected that his move on Ed had been rejected. He cocked one eyebrow at the blonde.

“Why lie to yourself?” He asked. “Even if I hadn’t witnessed you practically drooling at the admittedly lovely sight of Gen bending over, I’ve known all along of your crush on that Colonel of yours.”

Ed could feel himself flushing even as he tried to will any physical reaction away and adopt a poker-face. Gen, he assumed, was the young bath attendant he had quickly looked away from on entering the bath. Evidently not quickly enough. It proved nothing – simply looking at a man did not automatically mean he was attracted to them. He would argue that being able to look at a man as objectively attractive as the bath-boy was and not feel arousal was proof enough of his heterosexuality. That side of Ling’s argument he could refute.

The Colonel was another matter.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He settled on, though the hitch in his voice said otherwise.

“Do you think I remember nothing from my time as Greed, Edward?” Ling asked, tone low and oddly sultry. “I  remember the way you spoke of him. No one speaks like that of someone who is ‘just’ their commanding officer.”

Ed glared.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He repeated stubbornly.

Ling shrugged his shoulders, looking for all the world like he couldn’t care less.

“Have it your way.” He replied. “But think on this. Soon Alphonse will want to return to Miss Chang and carry on their research. Research, I understand, they have been partaking in for months without your input. You can go with them today, and find yourself a third wheel that isn’t needed. Or you can stay. In two weeks time your brother will be back to negotiate a research fund from yours truly, and you can leave with him then instead, if you so desire.”

Ed paused. He hated to admit that Ling had just hit on all his insecurities. About how burdensome and not-needed he truly was. That was the real reason he had dragged Al to the palace, wasn’t it? Because Ling was the only person in all of Xing who he actually knew. Some connection Ed had that Alphonse didn’t – not really. And now that Ed had done that, his usefulness was spent.

“Why would I want to stay?” He asked. Although the idea of avoiding being useless seemed plenty reason enough.

Ling smiled. A lazy, sensual thing.

“ This palace has plenty to offer a travel-weary soldier still trying to find his place after his mission has come to an end.” He promised wisely. “Besides, you just might learn something about yourself.”

Ed was definitely going to regret this. But just in those two sentences Ling had proven he really did understand Edward – whether that was from memories from his time as Greed, or simply that the Emperor was move astute than Ed gave him credit for. Slowly, he nodded his agreement.

“Great, you’re ready. Mei will be waiting in Shao-Tan. It’ll take us about an hour to ride, obviously after we’ve got out of the city-limits and can hire some horses.” Alphonse started talking the moment he entered the changing room again and saw Ed sitting, back in his slacks and tank-top, on one of the benches, twenty minutes later. Ling was being fussed over by two new, still very pretty, attendants, and Alphonse held up a heavy, leather-bound book for the Emperor to see. “That lady found this for me. Thanks, should come in handy.”

“You’re welcome.” Ling said in a bored tone. It couldn’t have been more obvious he had only recommended the book to buy himself some alone time with Ed. The older Elric felt an odd tingle at the idea.

Alphonse nodded.

“Anyway, we should really be on our way. Come on, brother.”

Ed didn’t stand. He cleared his throat.

“Actually, Al,” He began, feeling like he wasn’t sure where to begin. He wasn’t sure if Alphonse would understand. Best to just be out with it. “I’m going to stay here.”

Alphonse paused, blinking at his brother.

“What? Why?” He finally asked. Ed shrugged.

“Come on,” He mumbled, “I’m not as young or as brilliant as I once was. I’m not going to be a big help to you and Mei. You’ve got this.”

Alphonse frowned, sinking down on to the bench opposite Ed and surveying his brother.

“But you came all the way to Xing. I thought… I mean, honestly I thought you just kind of missed me.” He said, brutally honest. Ed chuckled gently.

“ I did.” He confessed. “But I’ve just travelled two days across the desert and I don’t have it in me to live on the road any more. The palace has a big library Ling has kindly given me access to, and you’ll be back here in two weeks so we can reassess then. I’m probably better off doing research from here, anyway.” He explained.

Alphonse looked at him for a moment longer. Ed still wasn’t sure he was making the right decision.

“ Okay.” The younger brother breathed. “Just don’t get too attached to those baths, eh? Winry’ll want you home eventually.”

Ed offered a weak smile, thinking of the brush of Ling’s lips on his, the feel of his hip-bones under Ed’s fingers. He swallowed unconsciously. Ling had suggested Ed might find something about about himself, and the idea had secretly sent the desire of discovery thrilling through him. He hadn’t even given a thought to Winry.

“Okay. Two weeks.” He repeated. “That’s all I need.”


	2. After Dinner Entertainment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I go where I am wanted, sir.” He explained, then his tone turned suggestive. “And I was told you wanted me.”

“So you’re not with Alphonse?”

Edward leant back in the large, ostentatious, red-velvet chair in the room Ling had told him would be his for his two-week stay, and put his feet up on the polished dark-wood desk. On the desk was a telephone set, and the moment Ling had left him to ‘get acquainted’ with his lodgings, he had phoned Winry in a fit of guilt.

“No, Win, it’s complicated.” He sighed. “Al is fine with Mei. I’m just gonna stay with Ling for a couple of weeks. Then if Al needs me I’ll go travelling with him, and if he doesn’t...”

“You’ll come home.”

She sounded so hopeful. She hadn’t wanted him to travel to Xing. She’d said he would be too tired, that he wasn’t built for travel any more, and that his automail port needed regular cleaning by a professional. None of what she had said was wrong, either, but every time Alphonse sent a letter Ed found himself daydreaming about making the trip and meeting up with his sunshine little brother. He missed being able to card his fingers through Al’s hair, or being the one to help him up and down stairs. Winry would frown each time one arrived, saying Al should come home more often to stop Ed worrying, but she didn’t understand that Ed was happy that Al was out there doing his own thing. Ed just… wanted to be out there doing it alongside him. In the end Winry had ended up trying to bake Ed in to distraction, settling steaming apple-pies and creamy custard tarts down in front of him every time a letter from Xing arrived in the post. That had worked until Ed had figured out the pattern and started leaving the sweet treats to hide himself away in the study and read Al’s words over and over again instead. Then Winry had changed tactics and once Edward had read Al’s letters once she would arrive at the study door wearing a matching set of lacy underwear and nothing else, and would distract him in much less family-friendly ways.

That had worked until Ed realised that receiving a letter from his brother was beginning to make him horny and he’d had to put an immediate stop to it.

“Sure.” He agreed, wondering why it was so difficult to vocalise that if Alphonse didn’t need him in two weeks time he would make the trip back to Rush Valley and his incredibly doting girlfriend.

“I’ve missed you.” She confessed.

Ed could imagine her so clearly on the other end of the line. It was late, and there was a time-difference between Xing and Amestris, so it was even later in Amestris. She’d be wearing her silky white night-dress with the lace inset at the front, hinting at the curve of her breasts. She’d be sat on the bench in the hallway, curled up on herself with her feet under her, holding the phone in one hand and fiddling with a bolt or something in the other. She was never truly still, after all. Her hair would be down, a little messy where she’d run her hands through it so often during the day working on her latest model, and somewhere on her there would be a grease mark. Usually the back of her neck, where she rubbed it during the day and couldn’t see it properly to wash it off at night. Ed had got into the habit of finding her grease smudges and washing them for her – before kissing them dry. He found he missed her too.

“Al might need me.” He warned, though it seemed less and less likely that he would. The youngest Elric was more than self-sufficient with out Ed hanging around.

“Of course.” Winry replied, kind to the last fault and always understanding of Ed’s need to be beside Al, even if she didn’t always like it. Then; “I received a letter from Central today.”

It was an abrupt change of subject, but she said it cautiously, like testing the waters for sharks. Ed felt a wave of dread crash over him, and when he confirmed he had heard her it was with a voice an octave too high.

“It was from Sergeant Fuery.”

Ed breathed out a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding. He hummed for her to continue.

“He just asked after you. Said that some of the men were thinking of getting together for Mr. Havoc’s birthday at the end of July, and asked if perhaps you wanted to train in for it.”

Ed swallowed.

“Oh, well… I’ll probably still be here.” He mumbled. He heard some shifting on the other end of the line like Winry was repositioning herself on the bench.

“I’ve already starting writing my reply to say as much. It was a nice thought though, wasn’t it? It’s been awhile since you’ve seen them all.”

“Not that long.” Ed shot back too quickly.

It had been one year, three months and thirteen days. He hadn’t been counting exactly, his mind just worked well with numbers, and he knew the exact moment he had last lain eyes on an Amestrian officer.

“Okay.” Winry agreed, although from her tone it was obvious she didn’t really agree and was just saving them both an argument.

Ed took a moment to stare at a particularly gruesome tapestry of the late Emperor’s conquest of the clans in the south of the country, that depicted in horrid detail the pillaging and plundering of towns, villages and their villagers. Right in the middle was an intricately stitched horse that was mid-way through having it’s head cut from it’s body. There was so much red thread in that one area alone that Ed was beginning to feel faintly ill. Although there was always the possibility that was due to the conversation.

“Anyway, Winry, I’ve got to go. There’s weird etiquette about dinners and stuff here.” He excused himself. Winry sighed on the other end of the line like she’d been expecting him to find a reason to run away the moment she’d mentioned Central.

“Okay.” She agreed again, “I love you.”

“Yeah.” Ed responded awkwardly. “You too.”

He hung up before she could reprimand him for not actually using the L word, as she was wont to do. Again, he just wasn’t great at actually declaring that mushy crap. He stared at the phone for a moment after he put it back on the line, wondering whether she would call him back just to chew him out, and then breathed a sigh of relief when it didn’t immediately start ringing. He scolded himself for thinking she would – she wasn’t neurotic.

Anyway, he hadn’t been lying when he’d told her there were odd etiquette rules. Ling had lectured him at length about them on the walk to his room. Then a couple of minutes later a servant had appeared with the luggage that the guard had thrown at his feet in Ling’s office and had been left there all day, and lectured him again about how he would need to dress and act for dinner, and at what time it was.

He padded across the shag carpet to where his cream coat had been flung over yet another chair (the room Ling had provided for him was bigger than Winry’s entire flat) and collected his silver watch from the depths of the pocket. He steeled himself mentally, and flipped it open to check the time, carefully avoiding looking at the date etched into the other side, as was his habit.

He still had about ten minutes before dinner was due to start, and he had been told in excruciating detail how he wasn’t to arrive early or late, but he did have to get changed. He frowned at the bag he had dumped on the carpet when the servant had delivered it. He was supposed to wear formal wear to dinner, but he hadn’t packed a suit. He wondered whether some black slacks and a blue shirt without a tie was going to suffice; then there was a knock at the door.

“I’ve bought an outfit for you, sir.” Said a voice behind the thick wood of the door, accented but in Amestrian. “On his Majesty’s orders, sir. For dinner, sir.”

Hell, if this dude said ‘sir’ one more time Ed was going to lose it. He quickly crossed the room to pull open the doors and found himself face to face with one previously mentioned objectively good-looking bath-attendant by the name of Gen, holding up a black clothing sleeve. Ed paused in the doorway, cursing Ling.

“Sir.” Gen greeted, eyes cast downwards. By the gate he was young.

Younger than Ed, and Ed himself couldn’t even legally drink. His skin was entirely unblemished, sun-kissed but as if the sun knew the word chaste, and in comparison his hair and eyes were ethereally dark. He lashes sent long shadows down his cheeks, his lips were full and a delicate shade of pink. He stood before Ed in the same flowing cotton tunic dress from the bath-house, and it highlighted the slim frame of his body, the slightness of his shoulders. Androgynous. The word sprang to Ed’s mind unbidden, but it worked. If you didn’t look too closely it would be difficult to assign a gender to the man before him, but as he approached he was, clearly, a man. Well, a boy, really.

“T-Thank you.” He stuttered out, reaching for the sleeve. Gen twisted his hand to give it to him and ended up brushing the back of Ed’s hand as he did so. Ed took a hasty step back with the sleeve in his grip.

“Please open it.” The boy said, unperturbed by Ed’s awkwardness. “If it isn’t to your liking I can retrieve another.”

Ed knew this game. Ling had picked something out that he wanted Ed to wear. Ed could say he didn’t like it and get another option, but then he’d be late for dinner, which wasn’t allowed. It was as if Ling thought Ed didn’t know he was a manipulative bastard. He unzipped the sleeve, and revealed a long dark robe with a high collar, in a light grey colour, with a yellow embroidered crane on one side of the breast, and a line of buttons down one side. He bought it out of the sleeve and unfolded it to see it was practically ankle-length. More like a dress than a jacket.

“The Emperor honours you, sir. This crane is only to be worn by the Emperor’s favourites.” Gen spoke, a note of awe to his voice. Then, eyes still averted down to the ground in a display of submission: “I am to help you into the Changshan, sir. They can be … I know not the word.”

“Fiddly.” Ed supplied in a resigned tone, looking at the row of tiny buttons that started at the neck on the right hand side and travelled all the way to the bottom. Over twenty, for sure. He placed the robe on the edge of the imperial sized, four poster bed, and shrugged off his dark blue tank, throwing that over one of the chairs. He looked behind him at where Gen was still meekly looking at the floor, cursed Ling once more under his breath, and shimmied out of his slacks as well.

“Sir.” Gen said the moment he was done, betraying that he probably wasn’t looking at the floor the entire time, and the servant reached delicate hands towards the robe, deftly undoing button after button.

“Is this in your normal duties?” Ed asked, feeling awkward for getting so bare before even starting on the buttons. Gen was making quick work of them though. The attendant nodded his head forwards, once, and no more.

“I go where I am wanted, sir.” He explained, then his tone turned suggestive. “And I was told you wanted me.”

Holy – Ed needed to steer this kid off track. Now.

“I thought you were a bath-tender.” He attempted to control the conversation, as he turned and Gen smoothed the robe down over his shoulders. A gentle hand on his arm had him turning back to the servant, who began to swiftly button up the silky nubs again; slipping them through their holes with expertise.

“I am a bath-tender. I am a messenger. I am a scribe.” He listed, all the while buttoning, and then he paused as he reached the buttons at the bottom of Ed’s stomach. He looked up, getting eye-contact with Edward. He was a little shorter than Ed was, and his long eye-lashes made every look appear an invitation. Then he sank to his knees. Ed’s breaths came a little more laboured, looking at the beautiful boy on his knees in front of him, threading buttons through holes with deft fingers. “I am a catamite.” Gen said.

“A catamite?” Ed repeated, slightly panicked.

“It mean _lover_.” Gen responded, boldly resting his head against Ed’s thigh and looking up at him with what Ed could tell now was _definitely_ an invite. His accent made the word ‘lover’ sound like a prayer. Ed forced himself to swallow.

“It means _under-age_.” He responded. He was a certified genius, he knew _exactly_ what catamites were.

Gen bit his full bottom lip sensually, still threading buttons, and then when he was done he rocked back on his heels and lifted himself to standing in one swift motion. Lithe. Fit. Athletic. Ed needed to calm the thesaurus in his brain.

“Only by Western standards.” The servant told him, voice sultry, as if this information made his blatant sexual advances more acceptable, before turning around to head for the door, throwing Ed a suggestive look over his shoulder. “You must not be late for dinner.” He advised.

Ed watched as the door swung closed behind the boy, and forced out a shaky breath. If that was setting a precedent for his time in the palace… he might not survive two weeks.

The imperial dining room was likely the largest room in the entire palace. It stretched so far Ed couldn’t see the particulars of the flower arrangements on the other end. According to most pamphlets on the country, the palace dining room was the longest room in the entire world. Drachma apparently had a corridor that wanted to rival it, but it was eleven centimetres too short. The table that the room hosted was so wide that four people could have set abreast at each end, and so long that Ed lost count of the chairs placed at each setting. It was made up with one long red table-cloth and at least thirty sprayed gold rose bouquets. Each setting had a row of cutlery in course-order, three plates and bowl all set out ready for it. Some of the biggest political decisions ever made had been made in that room, whilst drinking expensive champagne and slurping soup. The outcome of wars had been decided at that same table.

Ed did not have the table manners for such a table.

“You look stunning.” Ling greeted him as he entered the room, arms stretched so that he caught Ed’s hands in his and physically dragged him further into the room.

Honestly, Ling looked stunning. In a regal, better-than-thou-and-boy-don’t-I-know-it kind of way. But there was no way Ed was going to tell him that. His long hair had been plaited into an ornate style that Ed couldn’t even have dreamed of achieving, even when he had plaited his hair daily and become fairly good at Cretan braids. He was wearing a Tang jacket in a bright yellow with three black cranes embroidered mid-flight across his chest; which told Ed his own ceremonial Changsham was Ling’s idea of a joke, and not the honour his _catamite_ had thought it was. Ling looked so at home in the enormity of the room that Ed had never felt so small in his life. He instantly hated it.

“We are this way.” Ling told him with a calculating smile, gesturing behind him to a grand door painted white to match the walls around it but doing a poor job of blending in thanks to the large lion statues posted on either side of them. He pulled Ed by their interconnected hands towards them, and Ed stumbled a bit in his long robe to keep up.

“Where are we -?” He began to ask, but Ling threw open the doors to reveal a much smaller dining room on the other side.

The room had a circular table which was still large enough to fit eight people, and was decorated more simply, in a plain white table-cloth with a five-point silver candelabra standing delicately in the middle, with five cream dinner candles flickering away. Two place-settings had been set up next to each other. A bowl on top of a plate, and just two sets of cutlery and a desert spoon.

“I thought something more – intimate – might be more your style.” Ling advised him as Ed was lead into the room and steered towards one of the place-settings. “That old stuffy dining room has seen far too much misery to encourage a relaxing meal, anyway.”

Edward couldn’t disagree with that.

He sat himself a moment after Ling did, feeling too swept away with the position of the palace to truly treat Ling like any other friend, even if he attempted a blasé attitude. The Emperor waved a hand and immediately another set of doors opened, making Ed feel immediately as if they were being spied upon. The Amestrian glanced towards the doors just in time to see the inner workings of another kitchen, as two waiters in smart western style waistcoats and crisp white shirts flurried in, carrying champagne and their first course. Ed held his hand over his glass.

“Don’t be a stooge Edward.” Ling admonished him, his tone bored.

“I’m not old enough to drink.” Ed shot back, “and neither are you.”

Ling paused then, looking at him for a long moment.

“I am the Emperor.” He finally said, the tone of his voice almost confused. “Do you truly think your western laws apply in my land. To me?”

Edward rose a challenging eyebrow.

“They should still apply to me.” He replied solemnly.

It was something Al would say. His little brother truly believed that should you follow a moral standpoint, unless presented with evidence to the contrary, you should stick to it. It was admiral. Ed was more fluid than that. In truth, he would have appreciated the drink – but he didn’t trust Ling around him whilst his defences were down. Otherwise he probably would have taken advantage of being unsupervised with free access to expensive champagne. Ling looked at him for a long while after, as if trying to puzzle Edward out, but eventually waved for the waiters to leave his glass of alcohol.

“Bring some of the peach cordial instead.” The Emperor ordered, before addressing Ed in a more conspiratorial tone. “We have excellent peaches here.”

A moment later the waiter returned with a pink drink that he poured into a tall glass and set the jug on the able. The other waiter placed in front of them a light orange and radish salad, sprinkled elegantly with poppy seeds. Ling raised his glass in the air as they disappeared again through the doors.

“To our friendship.” He toasted.

“To friendship.” Ed repeated hesitantly, holding up his own glass and tapping it gently against what was likely a crystal flute. He couldn’t exactly call the way he had been treated since arrival a simple friendship. He couldn’t ignore the kiss he had shared with Ling in the bath, or the hard line of the Emperor’s body under the water, either. “Ling,” He began, cautiously. “That boy you sent with the robe – Gen -”

“Ah, that reminds me!” Ling interrupted excitedly, putting his glass down and clapping his hands excitedly. “I have a gift for you.”

Ed hated himself that his first thought was that Ling was about to offer him the boy himself. It wasn’t an unreasonable worry, though, as the palace was rumoured to keep slaves. The majority of the staff were well-paid servants, but rumours didn’t come from nowhere. There was every possibility some of the attendants Ed had been seeing about the corridors all day were in actual fact unpaid and kept in metaphorical chains. He was therefore relieved when after another, more meaningful, clap of Ling’s hands, a servant bought out a small wooden chest. It was about the size of a football but rectangular, and coloured blue, with heavy brass and leather adornments. The servant stopped in front of Ed, bowed slowly, and then unclasped the chest. Inside was a satiny backdrop housing three glass phials, each with a tiny little label.

“They are hair oils. I use them myself.” Ling explained. “You have such fine hair, Edward, it really is time you took care of it.”

It was such a unwarranted gift that Ed didn’t even know how to begin to refuse it. He found himself nodding along dumbly. Ling smiled in his calculating way and waved the servant away, who began bowing backwards out of the room.

“She’ll place them in your rooms for you to explore later.” Ling advised him. Ed looked back to him from where he was following the servants progress out of the dining room, and was shocked to find Ling’s plate already empty. He let out a surprised laugh. Ling gave him a confused look. “Is everything okay?” He asked.

Ed nodded, still chuckling.

“Just nice to see that some things don’t change.” He teased, motioning to the other’s plate. Ling looked down, and looked back up smirking.

“I’m always hungry.” He agreed. “I’d eat yours up quickly if you don’t want me to steal a bite.”

Ed really wasn’t sure how Ling managed to make everything sound like a flirty promise, but it did bring him back to the subject that had been bothering him.

“Gen,” He spat out, the hard ‘G’ making the short name sound like a curse. “How old is he?”

Ling lowered his eyes discretely.

“Fifteen, perhaps?” He replied. “Not much younger than you or I.”

Fifteen. Not much younger than Edward had been when he’d toppled a government, achieved his goal of retrieving his brother’s body and lost his one true gift forever. Only a year younger than the first time Edward had taken Winry to bed, the two of them giggling and shushing each other up the stairs to her room in Pinako’s house and falling under the covers, still laughing until he’d pushed a finger inside of her and he’d gone deadly silent in fear and concentration and her laughs had turned to gasps that Edward didn’t understand. The same age Ling had been when Greed had taken over his body. The same age Ling had been when Greed had used that body to flirt with anybody with legs. The same age Ling had been when Greed had decided he desired Ed.

He wondered whether the man in front of him remembered that. Ling said he remembered much of what had happened when he had been Greed. But how much was much? Was that the reason Ling had kissed him in the bath? Because he remembered the coveting nature of the homunculus that had ridden him for so long?

“Is he really catamite?”

Ling smiled, motioning for Ed to eat, and the blonde slowly rose some orange to his mouth to chew.

“He is.” The Emperor responded reasonably. “Would you like him sent to your rooms tonight?”

Ed almost choked on his orange.

“No!” He huffed. “I’ve told you, I have a romantic involvement with Winry.”

“Actually, last time you told me you weren’t interested in men.” Ling teased.

“Well, that too.”

Ling smirked, which was never a good sign. He looked at Ed for another long moment. His dark eyes thin slits of concentration and intrigue. Ling had always looked a little shifty, but staring at Ed then, his usual look of calculation seemed more sensual.

“I’ve been told I should look to find myself an official wife. The imperial advisers have been working over time to marry me off to someone worthy.” The Emperor eventually told him, sighing wistfully. “Someone who would give good ties for the country – one of the Cretan Princesses. But in Xing we don’t tend to suit monogamy well; especially not if you are the Emperor.”

Ed had heard in detail the stories of the Emperors of Xing and their many unofficial wives. Each clan chief would send their eldest daughter to the palace, when she reached womanhood, to become one of the women who would birth the next generation of claimants to the title. Ling himself had been birthed by one such a woman. On top of those unofficial wives were the palace concubines and, apparently, catamites; hand-picked by the Emperor himself as bad-warmers to please him as he so wished. Paid handsomely, unlike the unofficial wives, who did it for the _honour_ and the chance of becoming the mother to the next Emperor of Xing. Ling had once told him he had twenty-three half-brothers and nineteen half-sisters. After siring forty-three children, Ed wasn’t entirely sure when the late Emperor had had time for any extra sex – let alone keeping his official wife (Ling’s stepmother, and a late Principala of Loupeto Zabania) happy. 

In retrospect, telling Ling he was dedicated to Winry probably meant nothing to a man who had been born and raised in such a polygamous world.

“Which Princess?” He asked.

“Claudette.” Ling replied, “The second-eldest. She is only thirteen, and grows more beautiful with each passing day.”

The second eldest made sense. Although the Cretan King had a son,  t he  boy was only three, and quite sickly. They would want to keep  Amalie , their eldest daughter, close to home should she need to succeed the crown. They couldn’t have her shipped off the Xing. Claudette, on the other hand, was prime marrying material. She was young and pretty, and high-enough in the line of succession that offering her wouldn’t feel like a snub. Ed could only imagine w hat a global superpower like Xing could do with the favours of the Cretan Royalty in their pocket.  And vice versa. It made their own countries position all the more fragile. Amestris was surrounded on all sides by countries it had spent the last few decades pissing off, and although it was no secret that Drachma was in no way their ally, Ed knew from his time in the military that Creta and Aerugo didn’t think too fondly of them either. For the first time he realised that Ling wasn’t a man he could afford to  make an enemy of. That although they would always be friends first, Ling was the most powerful man alive, and if Ed had any reason to love Amestris, he needed to use his connections wisely, not brashly. 

And despite the atrocities Amestris was responsible for, there was always at least one reason to love it.

But, Edward decided, staring down Ling’s unwavering, oddly knowing stare, he wasn’t going to think too hard on that.

“So should I be saving the date?” He asked instead.

Ling  shot him a genuine smile.  He really was quite handsome when he wasn’t trying to figure Ed out. 

“I believe we have some time. I am to begin courting her soon enough, but traditionally that takes a year before I am to told I am to propose. Then we shall spend some time as a betrothed couple, given that old King Louis is unlikely to allow his daughter to marry before she reaches the age of consent in her country.” He explained in a tone that suggested he hadn’t been able to speak with anyone about this before. Ed leant forward slightly, interested, despite himself. It was difficult to imagine the man married and settled down, even with his many side-affairs. Ling waved a hand in front of his face as if shooing away the notion of the marriage all together. “I shall have to wait until she is twenty-three to actually wed her. What an incredibly dull wait she will have before she knows the pleasures of a man.”

Ed rose an eyebrow.

“Our age of consent is  sixteen. Doesn’t stop most people popping their cherry early.” He assessed. “Do you really think she’ll be a virgin at twenty-three?”

Ling’s smirk told him he didn’t think so at all.

“Why Edward, she’s a princess. She’ll be a virgin until her wedding day whether she’s slept with half the country or not.” He winked. Ed snorted a laugh into his peach cordial.

“ And whatever happened to Lan-Fan?” He asked,  scooping more orange and radish on to his fork . “I always thought you two had a thing going on.”

Ling laughed gently, a little bitterly.

“I believe you mean your little brother clued you in that Lan-Fan and I shared a not-strictly-professional relationship.” He counted.

And well, yeah, that was exactly what happened. The blonde poked his tongue out in retaliation, before taking another bite of the delicious meal. Ling sighed, playing wit h the salad dressing left on his plate by dragging a very expensive looking silver fork through it . He rested his elbow on the table in a way the Emperor would never have got away with should the dinner have been formal, and rested his cheek on his palm as he looked at Ed. 

“Lan-Fan returned to our clan to carry out her duties as a loyal bodyguard to my mother, who chose to return to Yao country after my coronation.” He explained wistfully. “She remains there to this day. I receive letters sometimes.”

“You didn’t want to marry her?” Ed asked, unable to stop his curiosity.

“What I want doesn’t much matter in this situation. Lan-Fan understands. Our infatuation with each-other was little more than teenage crushes, after all.”

Ed frowned. Having had his fair share of teenage crushes himself he knew how all-consuming they could be. He’d heard a hundred times how as an adult he would look back and realise how inconsequential his feelings were – yet he’d also heard just as many times that feelings as a teen were amplified tenfold thanks to the rush of hormones running riot in their bodies. Amplified – not made up. Why did age make a difference in  whether someone’s feelings were true? 

Besides… Ling was still only sixteen. His hormones were probably still running riot, and yet he was able to run a country and put his personal feelings aside to marry someone he didn’t know and do the best thing for his land. If he could do all that, surely he could realise his feelings for Lan-Fan amounted to a bit more than a crush. The Emperor looked impatient to change the subject, however, so Ed swallowed down his protests, and changed tack.

“Well then, here’s to the next ten years of bachelorhood.” He joked, raising his glass once more. Ling responded by raising his own champagne flute lazily. “And until then you’ll have an entire palace full of willing people to keep you entertained.”

Ling took a sip of his drink, tilting his head back as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“ _You_ are in the palace.” He reminded. 

“I didn’t mean -” Ed quickly responded, but Ling was grinning, eyes twinkling with amusement, and he held a hand to shush the blonde.

“ If you  _are_ willing to entertain me – I could always use a Scrabble opponent.” He explained with a sigh. 

Ed was momentarily distracted by a couple of waiters rushing out through the door to the kitchen, sweeping up their empty salad plates and replacing them with larger plates full of tender looking  lamb meat  creeping up a hefty bone, and  an array of summer vegetables sitting like colourful jewels surrounding it, glazed with something shiny and dark-red. Ling pursed his lips as he examined the meal. 

“I hope your aversion to alcohol doesn’t extend to the red-wine glaze. It’s truly exquisite.”

Ed shook his head, practically drooling at the dinner in front of him.

“I’ll let it slide.” He mumbled with a trace amount of sarcasm. Ling laughed heartily at his tone anyway. Ed fought the flush the Emperor’s attention was igniting in him. “So, Scrabble?” He asked, cutting in to the lamb and wanting to moan happily as it all but fell from the bone. Ling nodded, already having some in his mouth. It was oddly endearing.

“I imagine a mind such as yours could give me a run for my money. The attendants and guards I usually wrangle into playing with me aren’t much of a challenge.” He explained once he had swallowed.

And oh, Ed could never say no to a challenge. With a forkful of lamb and vegetables in his mouth, he nodded. Ling slapped his hand on the table excitedly.

“Wonderful!” He exclaimed. “I’ll send someone to fetch you and bring you to my rooms at around nine. I have a boring old meeting before then, or else I’d drag you there myself straight after dinner.” He added, eyes swimming with the possibility of a good game.

Ed’s heart fluttered a little in his chest, wondering what he’d just agreed to.

Once the meal was finished and the two teens had parted ways, Ed made his way back to his room, only getting lost once, and changed out of the Changsam without the need for any of the distractingly attractive palace servants helping him, fiddling with the small buttons for some time before finally slipping the robe from his shoulders and back into the sleeve without bothering to redo them.  He dug in his bag for a white shirt and pulled that on, buttoning it only half way, followed by some leather trousers, then straightened up with a sigh.  He still had a couple of hours before someone was due to fetch him for his Scrabble-date with Ling, and he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself. He sat by the desk for a while, debating whether he should call Winry, or find a way to get in touch with Alphonse, and then ultimately decided against it. He looked around the room – all reds and browns and fancy carved wood features, and found the blue chest that had been presented to him at dinner was placed meaningfully on his bed-side table. Feeling weird at the sight of the gift, he quickly looked back to the desk and let his roaming eyes settle on a sheaf of papers. Lying next to it was an old fashioned quill with a feather Ed didn’t even know what bird it belonged to, and a small pot of ink. He pulled the paper towards him, feeling the thickness of it in his fingers, and saw the golden dragon emblem embossed to the top. 

Winry would love to receive a latter from the imperial palace. She’d find it incredibly fanciful. She’d squeal over the embossed letterhead and probably keep it forever in the little trinket box she didn’t realise Ed knew about.

He frowned, picking up the quill, unscrewing the lid on the ink pot and dipping the sharp edge of the feather in. It had been a long time since he’d written with a quill, and his handwriting wasn’t the neatest at the best of times. He carefully placed the nib to the paper, and entertained himself by writing an overly curling ‘D’ in ‘dear’.  Then he stopped.

_Dear_

Dear Winry; it wasn’t that hard to write. He’d written it before, during his search for stone when Alphonse would insist they pen letters to her since she so loved to receive them. Usually it was things like ‘Dear Winry, my automail broke down, do a better job next time’, or ‘Dear Winry, been thinking about your apple-pie, I can’t wait till Al gets to try it’, or even, ‘Dear Winry, we’re on our way home soon’. Now, however, separated by the great desert, the words seemed hard to form.

He didn’t need to write a letter anyway, he told himself, staring at the drying ink on the curly ‘D’. He didn’t have much to say that he hadn’t already told her in the phone-call. Besides, she’d already received a letter, from Fuery. He paused on the thought. Thinking of Fuery, who dutifully wrote them letters every couple of months, always putting his Central return address on the back. The first time Ed had received one he’d asked Winry to open it, and she’d been opening them for him ever since. She’d even got in to the habit of reading them and replying and only telling Ed the highlights, for which he was grateful. It had become so obvious to Fuery that it was Winry who was writing him back that he’d started addressing the envelopes to her. Ed didn’t mind. It eased his mind a little to know that Fuery was happy to have a pen-pal in Winry, when Ed himself struggled to write back.

Perhaps it was time he did, he wondered. But then any correspondence heading to Central gave him chills. There was only one person he wanted to write to in Central, and that man could no longer read. He frowned at the curly ink again. It hadn’t stopped him writing in the past; it just meant he never sent the letters. He had a pile of them, hidden in a locked box under his research desk in Winry’s flat in Rush Valley – in the office she never went in to.  She’d learnt after she’d opened his watch to not try and force her way in to locks, and Ed wasn’t worried to have left them unattended. Sighing, he added a careful ‘C’ after dear, and finished up the first line.

_Dear Colonel,_

It was stupid, really. If he remembered right (and he usually did) Mustang had been promoted from Colonel to Brigadier-General just before Promised Day. Yet, he’d been a Colonel for almost the entire time Ed had known him, and even if Mustang had shirked it, Ed couldn’t seem to let go of the rank. It was probably a psychological response to the man being one of few constants in his life during his turbulent teenage years; that Ed wasn’t willing to see him as moving on from that time. Especially when it was so obvious that Ed couldn’t. He sighed at the paper. Put quill to the thick parchment, and began to write; stopping only to re-ink his tool.

He wrote mindlessly, putting himself back into the position of a soldier, writing a report for his superior officer. He penned out the details of his laborious trip across the desert, the heat of the journey, and how he had met up with Alphonse outside Xingdu city limits. He explained how he had made the decision to stay with the Emperor in the palace, for use of the imperial library, of course, and of the gossip he had learned of Ling’s intent to marry a Princess of Creta. He paused briefly before writing down the particulars of what had happened in the bath-house, painting a picture with words of how Ling had pressed his naked body to Ed’s, of how his lips had felt when brushed against Ed’s own. He wrote;

_I’d never thought of men that way before_ . Before crossing it out. 

He could lie to himself all he liked, but he’d never managed to get away with lying to the Colonel, so why bother? Then, at the very end, having filled an entire page;

_I hope you’re well,_

_Love, Ed._

He was self-aware enough to know what he’d written. The first letter he’d ever wrote to the Colonel, the one right at the very bottom of the box, he’d been penning away mindlessly when he had scrawled that one little word in ending and frozen halfway through the ‘d’ in ‘Ed’. Then he’d chalked it up as a simple farewell. He’d once read some of the letters his mother had written to his father, before they’d burnt the house down, and she had signed those with love. Winry always signed her letters with love, whether she was writing to Ed, Alphonse or Pinako. He had simply adopted the practise. Ever since he’d allowed himself the luxury of those farewell words.  _Love, Ed._

It wasn’t as if he would ever send them anyway.

He was startled out of his introspection by a knock at the door. He quickly checked his pocket watch, which told him it was ten to nine. He must have been writing for longer than he realised – methodically dipping the quill to scratch more and more words on to the page. He quickly crossed the door and opened the heavy door to a sight that was becoming familiar. One long, flowy white tunic which encased a particularly beautiful bath-attendant by the name of Gen. Hastily, Ed stepped backwards. The boy didn’t seem concerned by the behaviour. 

“The Emperor sent me to you.” He said, biting his bottom lip slightly as his eyes roamed down over Ed’s body. The blonde suddenly regretted not buttoning his shirt up the entire way, and quickly pulled the two sides of it together over his neck.

“I asked him not to.” He huffed. Gen rose an exceedingly elegant eyebrow.

“He asked me to fetch you.” He clarified, “to come to his rooms.”

Ed cursed under his breath. Of course that bastard Ling would send this particular servant as an errand boy. This had to be on purpose. He buttoned up his shirt properly, feeling agitated, and nodded at the kid.

“Lead the way.” He mumbled.

Gen smiled coyly, before turning on his heel, and looking back over his shoulder invitingly. That tunic dress really did drop in just the right way.

“You will follow me now, sir.” He told Ed, beginning to walk off.

Ed swallowed heartily, and just about managed to keep his eyes trained on the back of the boy’s head.  Gen walked them down the corridor, up another flight of grand stairs, and doubled back down the new corridor, coming to a stop in front of two large doors that had been painted brilliant wh ite and had lion knockers in a brassy gold. Gen used the left hand one to knock. Then stepped back. A moment later Ling’s voice sounded from inside the room.

“Enter.”

Gen pulled on the left hand door, using both hands as it was obviously very heavy, and ushered in Ed ahead of him. Ed slid past trying not to brush too much against the boy who was now using his back to hold the door open, and saw Ling sat at an ornate desk with the woman with the pixie-cut who had apprehended him earlier in the day stood to attention in front of him.

“My apologies Edward,” Ling said as he entered, “Our meeting seems to have overrun. Please take a seat and I shall be with you momentarily.”

He motioned roughly behind him where a large seating area took up the majority of the room, with two cream sofas and two high-backed cream chairs clustered around a low table. Ed looked behind himself to see Gen was bowing his way back out of the doors, and then padded across the room to the seating. As he approached he saw the coffee table that was separating the seating was a mahogany wood that’s surface had been carved and painted into a beautiful scene of white elephants crossing the country from trees to deserts, and had been covered with a sheet of glass to make the table stale. Underneath it was a beaten up looking scrabble-box, which looked incredibly out of place.

Gingerly, hoping he hadn’t managed to smudge any ink on himself, he lowered himself on to a cream sofa and watched Ling finish up his meeting.

The woman who had captured him earlier in the day was now wearing  the same sleeveless, long tunics as the bath-attendants, and she looked somehow too dark for the pale, floaty dress. She’d re-applied the make-up around her eyes and they were smoky with charcoal, and her petite face was set in a deep frown, making her look taller and more imposing than she actually was. Ling was concentrating on writing something down, and eventually he blew gently on the paper to get the ink to dry and folded it into thirds, slipping it into an equally thick envelope and writing what Ed could only assume was an address on it. 

Then he handed it to the woman.

“Congratulations, Ming-Yue.” He smiled, “My father once told me of the kindness you did for him. It is my honour now to repay his debt. Take this letter of recommendation to Table City in Amestris, where there is a company called Vincent Gregory’s Amestrian Protection Firm. This letter should get you in the door – but you’ll have to prove your worth if you want to stay.”

The woman, Ming-Yue, bowed her head, the letter clutched in her fingers.

“Thank you, your majesty.” She spoke softly. Ling rose to stand before her and took her hand to shake it.

“A promise is a promise. Enjoy your freedom.”

She nodded solemnly, before making her way from the room. Ling turned to Ed with an angelic smile. 

“Was she a slave?” Ed asked, unable to stop his curiosity, as Ling made his way over and bent to retrieve the scrabble box.

“Yes.” He responded honestly, and then when Ed’s face obviously betrayed how he felt about the subject he held up a hand for silence and began to explain. “She was a slave under my father. I haven’t taken on any more slaves since his death, but abolishing the contracts he had those slaves under are surprisingly difficult to un-write. The man was a monster after all.”

He smiled sweetly as if talking about one’s own father in such a way was normal. Not that Ed could talk.

“In any case, it isn’t as simple as just letting them go. They have a grand total of no employable skills and a large gap in their work history in which explaining they were a slave is likely to make many employers turn them away. After all, it is a well documented fact that my father only ever made slaves of criminals – no matter how factious that truly is.” He advised, “I can’t just set them free because they’d only end up begging on the streets – when it’s a far better life to continue carrying out their duties and living comfortably in the palace. And I can’t pay them to work here because it’s part of their penance to be a slave,  and if word got out I was paying criminals to work in the palace – even those who have rightfully earned their freedoms – then the country would be up in arms.”

It did sound like a political mine-field, but Ed wasn’t going to admit that out loud. He settled for a telling glare. Ling sighed heartily.

“Don’t blame the son or the sins of the father, Edward. I thought you’d understand that.”

Ling really did deserve to be punched in the face sometimes.

“Is Gen a slave?” He asked suddenly, “are the palace bed-warmers slaves?”

Ling frowned.

“Some of them.” He admitted, making Ed feel vaguely sick. “But you’ll be pleased to know that Gen is paid handsomely for his skills. And oh, he’s very skilled.”

The Emperor placed the scrabble board on the glass sheet of the coffee table, and began counting out tiles from the bag, placing them on his stand so that he could see them and Ed couldn’t, until he had reached seven. Then he pushed the bag over to Ed, who repeated the process without responding to the other man’s jibe. Ling smirked, re-arranging his tiles and then placing his first word down in the middle of the board.

“Aren’t we supposed to draw for first go?” Ed asked. Ling smirked.

“I’m the Emperor, I always go first.”

Rolling his eyes, Ed studied the word Ling had placed in the centre of the board. ‘Hard’. His eyes quickly flickered back up to his friend to see the man watching him intently for a reaction. He wasn’t going to give him one. Instead he rearranged his own letters  and added ‘partial’ to the board, connected up by the second ‘a’. Ling took a deep breath as Ed collected six more tiles from the bag. 

‘Partial’ was followed by ‘elude’, followed by ‘wreck’, followed by ‘fire’ before Ed realised the room was becoming uncomfortably warm. The game wasn’t even particularly good, but it seemed to take an unusual amount of concentration to focus on it, and not the way Ling had unbuttoned the top of his Tang-jacket and how his hair was beginning to come loose from it’s intricate braid. Then Ling played ‘moaning’ and Ed’s eyes flickered up to his again.

And hell, it might have been the light in the room, or the fact that Ed had been travelling across a desert for two days, or that he’d spent the entire afternoon trying desperately to ignore the hungry pangs of arousal that swept over him every time that ridiculously attractive bath-attendant looked at him, but Ling looked _irresistible_. His face was flushed from the warmth in the room, the buttons on his Tang-jacket undone and splaying at the high neck to reveal the skin over his neck and collarbone to be a rosy pink too. His hair was falling out of the intricate stitches of his braid and was more flyaway than oiled back at that point. He was breathing hard, taking in shallow breaths and puffing them back out with audible huffs, and as he looked over at Ed across the table his dark, calculating eyes were swimming with an unreadable proposition.

“I should go.” The blonde hastily excused, standing awkwardly because there was a tell-tale tingling at the base of his stomach reaching down into his groin that would soon become a noticeable problem.

“We’ve only just started.” Ling protested, standing as well and looking confused. Ed scrambled around the edge of the cream sofa to try and back away.

“It’s been a long day.” He tried to lie, “I just need an early night.”

Ling looked lost, and for a second Ed was glad to be the one to bring such an uncharacteristic expression to the Emperor’s face.

“Well, then… Gen -” He floundered, motioning towards the door as if to call the servant.

“No!” Ed yelped. _Hell_ , no. He couldn’t trust himself around Ling, let alone the boy who was basically throwing himself at him. “No.” He repeated, more calmly. “I’ll find my way.”

And with that he backtracked out of the room, throwing himself at the heavy door to get it to open, and all but ran down the corridor away from the Emperor. He by-passed a couple of pretty women on the stairs in light-coloured Hanfu who giggled as he rushed by them, but didn’t stop until he had found his own rooms and dived inside, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it for good measure.

_Fucking hell._

He breathed heavily, keeping himself up by pressing his back against the door, and closed his eyes; instantly assaulted with images of his friend across the ornate coffee table, flushed, disarrayed and, from what Ed could tell, wanting. Fuck he was pretty. Prettier than any man had a right to be; with all that long dark hair and soft skin. A spark of his own wanting ignited in him, skimming across the base of his stomach like a tease and travelling south, until Ed was all but powerless but to run his left hand down his side and over hip, dipping it bellow the waistline of his leather trousers.

A gasped breath later and his head thumped against the door, eyes screwed shut, his fingers curling around his balls through the soft cotton of his boxer shorts; Ling’s eyes staring at him through a dark background, his face red and needy.

_Edward, please, it’s been too long._ He’d pant, helpless, lying back on that huge bed in his room and spreading his legs.

The blonde shimmied down his trousers and boxers until they fell to a heap around his ankles, teased his balls for a moment more, and then spat on his hand, taking a firm grip of what was now a flushed, hard cock. Ed wasn’t religious, but he wanted any god that may or may not be out there to know that this felt _good_. So, so good. Good enough that the image in his mind of his long-term friend and the ruler of the most powerful country in the world, desperately pleading for Ed to fuck him, wasn’t going to stop him.

The Ling in his mind bit his lip sensually, and then all of a sudden his hair had shortened and his skin had become slightly tanner and his facial features more feminine, and instead of the Emperor Ed was looking at Gen. It should have stopped him, he thought as his hand picked up the pace and he let out a small moan into the room. It should have made him feel guilty for fantasising about the criminally young _catamite_. But dear god, just that word had him bucking into his own hand, holding his breath as he neared release. Then sweet, young, beautiful Gen turned around, and when he turned back the man in his mind was -

“Oh, fuck! C-Colonel!”

Ed seized up as his orgasm washed over him, turning every muscle in his body tense and lifting him on to his toes as his hips cantered forward into his hand and spurts of semen shot upwards, coating his shirt with long strips of milky come. As he came down from the high he physically slid down the door until he was sitting, bare-arsed, on the plush carpet, breathing heavily.

He whined gently at his own imagination, leaning his back against the door. He wiped his messy hand on his equally messy shirt with a grimace. He didn’t even know how to face himself after such a shameful self-indulgence session. But there was one thing for sure. That particular fantasy had to stay in Xing.


	3. Progression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ah,” Ling assessed. “I see we still have some way to go on your journey of self-discovery.”

Over the next two weeks Edward took to staying in the palace library. It was on the first floor, and was a huge room rivalling Central’s largest collection, but with all new books focusing on Alkahestry and it’s uses. Ed could get lost in the stacks for hours, picking books at random that took his fancy and settling down where he’d found them to devour their secrets. A lot of it Alphonse probably already knew, but Ed took notes on everything, penning coded research into sheaves of thick palace paper, and then, on his second day of obsessive research, into a thick leather-bound journal Ling had gifted him at dinner the evening before.

Sticking to the library had the added bonus of being a good hide-away from the Emperor and his wily attempts to distract Ed from his task. It seemed every time Ed left the confines of the books there was Ling, or Gen, the beautiful bath-attendant, ready to catch him off guard. He couldn’t stay in the library forever, though, and had to come out to meet the strict meal-times of the palace. Breakfast at eight, lunch at one, and dinner at seven, sharp. Night after night Ling presented him with new gifts at dinner, and night after night he was invited to Ling’s rooms for after dinner games of Scrabble. Ed had thus far managed to refuse, but Ling was becoming more and more insistent.

On the first night after Ed’s _indulgence_ Ling had presented him with the journal, citing how he would need it for research, and merely hinted that he’d love it if they could re-arrange their game. Ed had excused himself with the lie that he had so much research to attend to. The night after Ling had produced a new set of writing tools, again, for the research, and winked that Ed could repay him by visiting his rooms for another game. Ed had feigned excitement at getting back to the books and promised him a vague ‘soon’. Before long it became apparent that Ling was intent on showering him in gifts, and although Ed often tried to refuse them, they all came with their own irrefutable excuse. A Tang-suit in a regal blue was gifted to him because he needed something to wear for formal meals. Then it was an ornate dagger with a ruby hilt and obsidian blade. Ling told Ed never to draw it in city-limits, but that he would feel safer if Ed accepted it, since after all he couldn’t use his alchemy to defend himself any more. After that it was a case of books on Xerxes and their culture, written close to the time Xerxes had fallen. Ling had presented those with reverence, stating they were gaining dust in his library and they rightfully belonged to Ed and his brother anyway. Ed hadn’t even attempted to refuse those. The night after Ling insisted he take some stoppered bottles of the finest Xingese Peach Wine, and that he drink it when he was old enough, with another sly wink. Then came the day that the gifts seemed to stop having excuses at all. When, on the last day of his two weeks, Ling presented him with a golden chain with a Flammel cross dangling from it, citing how it reminded Ling of Edward’s old coat, Edward realised that he was being courted.

But by that point he had realised his old issue of not being able to say no to Ling was a problem once more, and had dutifully accepted the chain.

“Wonderful.” Ling smiled triumphantly as Ed nodded his acceptance. He took the chain from the servant who had brought it in to the smaller dining room, presented in a neat little box, and took the few steps over to Ed. “Lift your hair now, I wish to see it on you.”

And Ed, it seemed, was entirely incapable of denying the Emperor his wishes. He reached behind himself, scooped up his hair, and piled it on top of his head whilst Ling slipped the chain around his shoulders and did up the clasp at the neck of his neck.

“There now,” Ling whispered from behind him. “Beautiful.”

Then there was the barest hint of a kiss to his bared neck, igniting a flush over his skin and spark of now familiar arousal in his stomach.

“Ling,” He whispered back, desperately, helplessly.

Every time he said no it seemed harder. He let go of his hair, and Ling brushed his fingers over the shoulders of the jacket he had gifted Ed. The Amestrian was dressed in the Emperor’s clothes, had used the oils for his hair that the Emperor had given him, and was now wearing the Emperor’s jewellery. Rejecting the Emperor’s kiss seemed juvenile after accepting so much else.

Ling moved back to his chair. Dinner was almost over. Ed only had to get through one last meal with him, he only had to say no once more. By the morning Alphonse would have arrived. He could escape. He just had to make it one more day.

“I must insist you join me for that game tonight, Edward.” Ling told him, his own plate empty as Ed finished up his.

“I was hoping to get some last minute notes down.” Ed refuted, having practised the excuse on his way to the dining room. Ling frowned.

“I’m no longer taking no for an answer.” He warned, and there was a seriousness to his tone that told Ed he was talking to the Emperor of Xing, and not his friend. He swallowed thickly. “Meet me in my room at nine. I have some business to attend to. If I’m not there when you arrive just let yourself in and wait for me.” He instructed.

Ed took a deep breath. Just one more refusal. One more no.

“… Okay.”

As advised, when Ed found his way to the Emperor’s rooms that evening, Ling was nowhere in sight. Ed knocked on the door, waited, and then waited a little longer to steel his nerve, before pushing on the heavy brass lion head and entering the room. It truly was quite breathtaking. The room he shared with Winry in her flat in Rush Valley was hardly big enough to fit the queen-sized bed the two of them curled up on, plus a small fabric chest that stored his clothes in screwed up balls. Ling’s suite could have fit twenty of his room, or so it seemed. As he entered, on the left, was a large super-king, four-poster bed with sheer, cream curtains and a hanging canopy. The hardwood floors underneath were interspersed with beautiful woven rugs, depicting dragons, lions, cranes and some just amazing patterns in blues, browns and reddish golds; some circular, some huge and rectangular. Against the back wall, under an impressive semi-circular window with pretty wooden beams between each pane of glass, was Ling’s imperial desk. It curved at the edges in a kidney shape, had at least five drawers, a neat desk tidy built in and a reddy-brown leather pad on the surface for comfort whilst writing. Sat next to it was a hard-backed chair with a soft leather looking cushion which matched so perfectly to the desk Ed was sure they were a set. Then, to the right hand side, was the seating area with the elaborate coffee table and the beaten up box of Scrabble. Behind that were two doors that had been left open. One lead into a walk-in closet, and the other a stunning bathroom.

Not that Ed was snooping or anything.

He settled himself into one of the cream coloured chairs to wait, checking his pocket watch as he did so. Exactly nine o’clock. Ling had said he might be a little late. He’d chosen a chair facing the door, and thus the bed, so that he could see the moment Ling entered, and spent his idle time examining the giant four-poster. It was bigger than the bed in the suite of rooms Ed had been bestowed, and Ed imagined there was probably some weird rule about how no-one was allowed to sleep better than he Emperor had. The sheets were cream silk, probably a higher thread-count than Ed had ever touched in his life, and embroidered with a subtle flame pattern in yellow, reminding Ed of Ling’s old jacket, but in reverse. There had to be at least ten pillows on the thing. How anyone could sleep with that amount of extra crap on the bed was beyond Ed. Some were large, plump, rectangular head-pillows, with frilly edges. Others were small, round or square, showing mandala patterns of embroidered cranes. Ed briefly wondered if Ling slept with one pillow under his head, one crushed under his arm and one between his legs. Not like Ed, who often slept without a pillow at all and had the crick in his neck to show for it.

In fact, the image of Ling asleep was so strong Ed had to quickly look away from the bed, trying to dispel the flashes in his mind of Ling, hair down and splayed around him, long eyelashes dusting his high cheekbones, lips parted as his breaths came out in sleep-dewy pants. Ed wondered if the Emperor slept naked.

He was thankfully ripped from that train of thought as the heavy duty doors to Ling’s room were pushed open, and for a moment Ed breathed a sigh of relief to think Ling was there, he could struggle through a game and then escape. Except, Ling was not alone. In fact, Ling had clearly forgotten about their meeting altogether, because there was the Emperor, striding into the room purposefully and with the hunger of a lion, crowding in front of him, pushing backwards and connected by lips, one very young, very pretty bath-attendant.

Fuck.

Ling had one arm wrapped around Gen’s back, drawing him in close, and one hand on his cheek, tilting his head up to Ling’s to keep him locked in the kiss as he walked them both backwards towards the bed. Ling was still wearing his Tang-suit from dinner, but Gen was entirely naked. Holy shit, had they walked through the palace like that? The back of the boy’s legs hit the bed and they both went tumbling down on to the soft sheets. Ling laughed. Gen moaned wantonly; with more eagerness and desire than Ed had ever heard. Before him, the catamite spread his legs, leaning up and boldly licking his way back into the Emperor’s mouth, whilst guiding the Emperor’s hand down between his legs.

Ed breathed out a way too loud breath, unable to look away, as Ling took the boy’s cock in his hand and pumped it lazily. Gen threw his head back on to the sheets and arched his body up into Ling’s touch, and let out a string of filth that had Ed heating up in second-hand embarrassment.

He should… he should leave, he told himself, staring at where Ling was teasing the boy with long, languid strokes. He should get up on to his feet, walk around the edge of the room and leave. Or at the very least hide himself in the bathroom. Or… or even let them know he was there.

But he did none of that. He sat on the chair, facing the bed, having inadvertently given himself the perfect view of what activities where happening there, and stayed; unable to move. Unable to even look away. Then Gen moaned again, and Ed’s hand travelled south over his stomach. He was still wearing the Tang-suit Ling had gifted him, still wearing the chain he had been presented with that evening, could still smell the oils he had worked through his hair in the bath that morning. And it occurred to him that he was sat exactly where Ling wanted him. Seeing exactly what Ling wanted him to see.

His unzipped the trousers of his gifted suit as Ling manhandled the boy on the bed until he was on his hands and knees, facing the head-board, and Ed had the perfect view of his rounded arse. Hell, he’d thought that sight had been nice when framed by the floaty tunic uniform of the bath-house. It was much, much more alluring bare. He shimmied down his boxers to slip his rapidly hardening cock free as Ling kissed feather-light pecks down the boy’s back until he was right at the base of his spine; used his thumbs to part the boy’s cheeks, and swirled his tongue against Gen’s puckered arsehole.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!_ Ed bucked into his hand with a harsh pant, matching Gen’s high keen with a low moan that seemed to harmonise throughout the room. The catamite looked over his shoulder, saw Ed watching them from the chair, and smirked. Ed couldn’t have stopped his hand if he wanted to. And he’d never wanted to do anything _less_ in his life. Ling slipped down off the edge of the bed to give him a better angle, falling to his knees on the hard wood floor, (and holy shit the idea of the Emperor of Xing having bruises on his knees had Ed fucking faster into his hand) keeping the boy’s cheeks parted so Ed would be able to see directly to his hole if Ling’s head wasn’t in the way, working at it with filthy slurping noises. Ed had done something similar for Winry a couple of times; using the pad of his tongue to work over her clit, revelling in her gasps of pleasure and the hand she couldn’t keep from his hair as he settled between her thighs and tasted the bitter, metallic taste of her aroused skin, that he’d always thought suited her so well. But that was nothing like what Ling was doing to the boy on the bed. Ed had never thought to use his tongue as another instrument to fuck. He’d never pushed it inside of Winry.

Now he really, really wanted to. He knew she felt amazing around his fingers; her soft yielding flesh so wet and inviting. He wanted to know exactly how she felt around his tongue. But more than that, and much more _urgent_ than that – he wanted to know exactly how the two men on the bed felt, writhing as they were, with Ed being the one to get them there.

Ling moved on to fingers, pushing in his middle finger until his hand was flush against the boy’s arse. Ed could only think that Gen must get fucked that way a lot, because he didn’t seem concerned or in pain, even though Ling hadn’t used any lube, and he’d sunk right in with no resistance at all. Somehow the idea that the boy was so well used to being penetrated only had Ed growing even harder. How often did Ling take this boy to bed? How many times had he tasted his flesh? Bent him to his will, and stolen an orgasm from him whilst he was still thrusting in to him? He probably looked exquisite when he came. Winry always did. She always tried to hide her face, thinking her expression would be embarrassing, but Ed loved to pry her hands away and take in the sight of her as she went over the edge; flush high on her cheeks, brow creased desperately, spit-shiny lips parted slightly. She was always beautiful, but Ed loved knowing that he was the one who made her lose control like that.

“Oh, oh, your majesty.” Gen huffed, his voice high-pitched and his words in Xingese. “Please. Please. Please.” He began to repeat like a mantra. Ling had three fingers inside him now, working them in and out lazily. He’d found some oils and has poured them down the boy’s back until they pooled down his crack, where Ling pushed it inside with his fingers. His legs were shaking. It was very noticeable from Ed’s position on the chair. He wondered whether it was from pleasure or the effort of staying still and taking the finger-fucking. And he was taking it _so well_.

“Stay there.” Ling ordered, retracting his fingers and standing off to one side so that Ed got a devastatingly good view of the catamite’s hole, left open, gaping and slick with lube.

He really wasn’t going to last like this. He should have been encouraged by that. Get it over with quickly. Make his excuses. Run away. But instead he slowed his hand, gripped himself painfully tight at the base of his cock and brought himself back from the edge. Hating himself, but wanting. Wanting far more than he’d ever wanted. He watched Ling unbutton his Tang-suit and peel it away from himself, leaving him bare-chested, and revealing more skin as Edward watched. Until he was left in a pair of jersey boxer briefs. Ed couldn’t look away. There was a stunning catamite literally presenting himself on the bed and Ed couldn’t take his eyes off of Ling’s regally pale skin. The Emperor looked over his shoulder, saw Ed watching, and winked.

“Stay there.” He repeated, and this time Ed knew he was talking to him.

The Emperor stripped the boxers from his body like putting on a show, with a sensual sway of his hips that had Ed drawing in a deep breath through his nose and willing himself to just look away. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. And then Ling climbed on to the ridiculously large bed behind Gen slowly and deliberately. It occurred to Ed that Ling _was_ putting on a show. A show specifically for Ed. Something about that was insanely hot.

Ling dragged his messy fingers through the oil he had poured on to Gen’s back, which had pooled at the base of his spine, and spread it over his cock with slow strokes. Ed _wanted_ to look away. Wanted at least not to stare quite so obviously at the man pleasuring himself, but he was completely helpless. Ling covered himself, lined himself up, and sank inside the catamite. Gen’s gasp would be something Ed would remember for the rest of his life.

His own hand was moving smoothly over his dick, but he kept it slow. Something told him Ling wouldn’t want him coming – at least not yet. He watched, mesmerised, as Ling pulled back his hips and snapped them forwards again. The boy under him arched, eyes closed, mouth hanging open, looking beautiful, and like he was in bliss. Then Ling set up a fast pace, fucking in and out of the boy thoroughly, with forceful thrusts. Ed couldn’t deny he’d thought about the idea of men loving men before. Of the logistics; how it all worked. He’d thought there would be a fair amount of pain involved, as it didn’t sound like something that would be fun. But the catamite on the bed was either very good at his job, or he was genuinely enjoying the feeling of having the Emperor’s cock taking him apart.

He wondered if Ling would look as beautiful, spread open and taking it. He was certainly something to behold whilst giving, but Edward thought of Winry’s orgasm face once more, and then put it out of his mind, trying hard not to think of the beautiful girl he’d left back home. At that moment, all he wanted was to see what _Ling_ looked like when he came. Preferably with Ed buried balls deep inside him and easing him through it.

The Emperor’s plaything was clawing at the sheets, and Ling wrapped his arms around the boy, hefted him up so his back was flush with Ling’s front, and continued to fuck up in to him. The boy cried out, but it didn’t sound pained. Ling was murmuring filth into his ear: too quiet for Ed to hear, and a surge of something close to jealousy ghosted through the blonde. He’d been allowed a front-row seat to the entire show, and yet this one sentence he was being denied. His curiosity over what secret Ling had shared in that moment was overwhelming.

“Come for me now.” The Emperor commanded, and, like a well-used and experienced catamite, the boy did.

He screamed as he did so, his dick spurting thin ropes of come into the air and up over his chest, and Ed had to squeeze himself painfully around the base again to stop from following suit. He was breathing heavily as he watched Ling furrow his brow, clearly focusing on the feeling of the boy he was fucking coming undone around him, and then let out a small curse as his body went tense and he finished inside the boy.

A moment later the Emperor had flopped on to the bed on his back, his legs spread obscenely and masculinely, one knee raised up, and looking towards the canopy. He allowed the boy a moment to catch his breath, before he was giving orders again.

“Leave us now.”

And Ed knew it was meant for Gen, not him. He stayed rooted to his chair as Gen slid from the bed, still completely bare, and left the room through the heavy doors. Imagining him walking back to his own quarters, naked, with Ling’s come dripping down his thighs, had Ed throbbing with an urgency he’d never felt before. Then, from the bed:

“You’re not still feigning shyness, are you?”

Edward looked over to see Ling, completely bare on the bed, resting against the ridiculous amounts of pillows, with his eyes looking at Ed calculatingly, and his legs spread. As Ed watched, he crooked a finger to encourage him over, and before he knew what he was doing, Ed was on his feet.

He probably looked ridiculous, stumbling over to the bed in his eagerness with his cock hanging out. He kicked his trousers further down his legs as he went, using his toes to tug his shoes off, and dragged the Tang-jacket over his head because trying to undo any buttons at that time wasn’t going to end well. Ling stayed, looking sated, on the bed, but arched up a little to meet Ed as he crawled on, wrapping his fingers around the back of Ed’s neck and dragging him in for a kiss.

It was only after he had his tongue in the Emperor’s mouth that he remembered that Ling had spent a good amount of time tongue-fucking the catamite’s hole. _Fuck_ , that was dirty. And yet it caused an excited shiver to run through him.

They kissed for a long moment more, enjoying each-other languidly, and then Ling broke their lip-lock to quietly assess him; eyes heavily lidded and swimming with unspoken promises. Edward put his hand’s on his friends hips and pushed them a little further down into the mattress. Ling threw his head back, making a contented noise, his hair falling in soft waves over his shoulders and down his back. It was unfair that a man could look that pretty.

“I’ve never done this before.” Ed confessed in a whisper.

The Emperor settled himself back against the pillows and pulled Ed’s hand to him, guiding it down his chest until it was hovering over his spent cock. It was fattening up a little again, and covered in oil and semen. Ling manipulated Ed’s fingers until he had dragged two through the mess, and shivered at what was clearly over-stimulation.

“Greed wanted this.” He sighed, closing his eyes with a self-satisfied smile as Ed corralled his courage and took a firmer grip of the man’s dick. Ling bucked into his hand. “He wanted you.”

To be fair, Greed had wanted _everything_.

“I know.” Ed muttered back. “He, uh… he made that pretty clear.”

Ling looked at him like he knew exactly what had happened with Greed. Ed supposed he probably did. It didn’t exactly help him now though, staring down this man who was so sexually confident, who had done far more with more people than Ed could even dream of. His entire sexual knowledge came from of a bunch of lewd comments made by some old bastards in the military, and a couple of months worth of haphazard exploration with Winry. Plus, of course… that one thing with Greed. But that didn’t really count, and definitely hadn’t prepared him for the Emperor of Xing inviting him in to his bed. The cock in his hand was firming up again under his stroking and it felt unfamiliar to him, despite knowing exactly what to do with his own. It was all… different angles.

Then Ling’s hand was back on his, guiding it smoothly, taking him through the next couple of strokes before nudging it further down, over his balls, and down even further. Ed all but stopped breathing when Ling nudged his fingers against the stretched bit of skin around his hole.

“You saw what to do, right?” Ling asked, voice a little husky now. The Emperor reached for the discarded bottle of oil from his tryst with the catamite, and pushed it in to Ed’s fumbling hands. “One at a time now.” He instructed calmly as the blonde tried to pour some on to his fingers and ended up spilling a lot more on to already messy bedsheets.

Ed lined up his middle finger like he had seen Ling do, took a deep breath, and pushed. And fuck, Ling was tight. The Xingese man breathed out a long, forcibly calm breath as Ed breached him, and Ed could feel the way he was baring down on his finger, attempting to ease the passage of it inside, but still he was tight. He clearly didn’t spend every night getting fucked like this, which meant he was normally on the other end of the proceedings. Weirdly, Ed felt a little honoured at being allowed to top. Although it was clear that by no means was Ling virginal in any respect.

“That’s right. Slowly. Keep going.” The man encouraged in short pants of breath, his brow creased and his face angled towards the canopy of the four-poster. Ed’s own breaths were coming out shallow too, and his cock was throbbing between his legs to get a move on – but if there was one thing he had in spades it was patience, and here was a task in which he knew he would have to exercise it. “Yes.” Ling sighed when he eased off the pressure and then began to push again. Before long he was pushing and pulling his one finger out with little resistance, and Ling began instructing again. “Alright, another one now.”

It carried on like that for a while. It was nothing like the fantasy Ed had indulged in two weeks before, where Ling was desperate for him and needy. He was flushed in the heat of the room, and from his previous fucking of Gen, and he was wanting, that was for sure – but there was no pleading coming from the Emperor; only calm instructions that Edward was secretly grateful for. Then, when Ed had three fingers buried deep inside him and was able to twist and thrust them freely, Ling nodded and reached once more for the bottle of oil Ed had discarded on the sheets. Ed held a hand out for it, but Ling sat forwards with Ed’s fingers still inside him (Ed had to bend awkwardly to accommodate the movement, and yet he found he didn’t mind) and poured some directly on to the blonde’s cock.

“Ffffuuuck.” Ed hissed at the coolness of it.

But then Ling’s hand was on him, spreading it around with expert tugs and strokes, and the pool of arousal in Ed’s stomach jumped into overdrive and ignited. He pulled in a deep, steadying breath and quickly pulled his fingers out of Ling’s hole so he could replace with them with his cock. He wasn’t going to last long, but god-dammit he was definitely going to at least get himself inside. Ling didn’t seem to mind the change in pace from slow, patient, practise-round fingering to Ed’s desperate need to fuck him right that very moment, and simply lay back against the pillows with a self-satisfied smirk and spread his legs further. Ed hooked one hand under one of Ling’s knees and pushed his leg even further back to gain better access as he pressed the head of his cock against the Emperor’s hole, and finally, _finally_ pushed inside.

Entering Ling was like reaching enlightenment. Nothing had ever felt so mind-numbingly good. He’d always told himself Winry was great in bed – and she _was_ – but the woman he’d left behind in Amestris didn’t hold a candle to the all-consuming heat and vice-like tightness of Ling’s body. Winry was shy when it came to sex; often didn’t know how to articulate what she wanted and ended up with the two of them arguing because Ed hadn’t picked up on her hints. Ling knew exactly what he wanted, and how to get it, and Ed became his willing pawn. He thrust in once, twice, and knew he could never give up the feeling. Ling put elegant fingers on his neck, pulled him down into a bruising kiss, and Ed’s hips stuttered forwards as he struggled at once for breath and for control, until suddenly he was spilling his come inside of the Emperor and Ling was grinning into his lips, telling him how well he’d done.

As Ed came down from his orgasm he realised how embarrassingly quickly he’d come – although to be fair he _had_ been being teased for a long while whilst the Emperor fucked a catamite on that same bed. Ling was still lying under him, seemingly unperturbed that he was still hard whilst Ed had finished and was drained. Gingerly, he extracted himself from the body under him and sat down by the Emperor’s side, reaching for his cock to finish the job; but Ling brushed his hand away.

“Lay down.” He ordered.

Willingly, Ed obeyed. Ling got himself to his knees and loomed over him, his hair falling down over his shoulders in a soft waterfall, and a reddened look to his pale skin from the exertion. Then he straddled Ed’s chest, sitting with a thigh on either side of his captive so that his cock was jutting up close to Ed’s face. Instinctively, Ed reached his hands around Ling’s back and took a firm hold on his behind. Ling smirked down at him.

“I want to come on your face.” He said brazenly, making Ed have to fight a blush. “Open your mouth for me. Show me your tongue.” He ordered.

Ed’s stomach clenched a little at the commands. At the suggestions within the commands.

“That’s what Greed wanted.” He heard himself saying. Confessing, really. He hadn’t spoken about this before. Ling nodded down at him, confirming once and for all that he did remember the incident.

“There’s something about marking someone up that way. Greed and I share the personality trait of possessiveness.” The other man responded reasonably, as if they were doing something as mundane as discussing the weather. Then his pitch dropped, his eyes darkened with the same possessiveness he spoke of. And Ed understood. This wasn’t really about Ed at all. It was all about Greed and what Greed had wanted, and the connection to the homunculus that Ling was still trying to get back.

Over a year ago, travelling the countryside with Greed in Ling’s body and two Chimeras as his only company, Ed hadn’t said no. It felt almost unfair not to give the same courtesy to Ling. At least Ling was less likely to be a dick about it. Besides – Ed couldn’t honestly say what they had just done had been entirely about Ling either, so it seemed only equitable that they were both subconsciously substituting.

Slowly, he opened his mouth, flattening out his tongue until it rested on his bottom lip. He probably looked obscene. Ling, however, seemed to appreciate it. He began stroking himself, no longer the lazy strokes keeping himself interested, but pushes and pulls that had purpose: drifting slowly over the base, clenching a little harder at the sensitive skin just under the head. Ed kneaded the flesh of the Emperor’s cheeks in turn, and Ling lifted himself slightly on his thighs, thrusting his hips forwards like he was giving Ed a lap-dance, as he bought himself closer and closer to the edge.

Then Ling was stuttering forwards, aiming his release towards Ed’s face, and a spurt of semen shot up across his cheek, forcing him to close his eyes. One more landed over his forehead, in his hair and eyelashes, and then some landed on his tongue – warm and tangy – and over his lips. Finally Ling cursed under his breath as the last dribbles fell down over Ed’s chin, and the Emperor fell to the side, flopping off of Ed and on to the messy sheets. Ed lay there for a long moment with his eyes closed, unwilling to move, before he finally closed his mouth and swallowed the little bit of come that had landed on his tongue.

“Stay there.” Ling ordered once more, and with his eyes closed Ed felt and heard him remove himself from the bed, but didn’t see it. A moment later he was back again, and Ed felt a warm soft cloth wiping over his eyes. He grappled for it, and Ling relented easily. For a long moment he scrubbed at the Emperor’s release on his face, and when he was scrubbed raw and red from it he finally stopped. Ling placed an hand on his cheek and looked at him for a long moment. “You really haven’t done that before, huh?” He asked.

Ed looked away.

“Was it that obvious?” He countered. Ling laughed, but it wasn’t mocking.

“It’s obvious only that your attraction to men didn’t start the moment you stepped foot in this palace.” He replied. “Why lie to yourself? Does Amestris not approve of such things?”

Ed shook his head, hooked up his knees to his chest and cradled them with his arms, feeling his nakedness more with the topic at hand.

“It’s not that.” He mumbled in to his knees. “It’s not illegal or anything… for the most part people are okay with it. But… I mean everyone knows the military in a toxic environment full of men who all want to seem bigger and more important than they are. There were some… rumours, a while back. About me. And someone else…”

“Brigadier-General Mustang.” Ling supplied. Ed huffed into his knees.

“So you knew.”

Ling shrugged his shoulders like it wasn’t important.

“I suspected for myself that the two of you were not strictly professional. It doesn’t take a large leap of logic to assume others would feel the same way.”

Ed glared at the Emperor, but found their combined nakedness and sated bodies stopped him from keeping it up for too long.

“There was never anything going on between us like that.” He protested. “But that didn’t stop the dirty old men around HQ telling me I’d get a better deal with them. I guess when that’s your only exposure to homosexuality you start to figure that if you allow yourself to accept that part of you – maybe you’ll turn out like them. Bitter. Perverted. Corrupt. And I like women too, so it was easy to ignore that secret part of myself.”

Ling nodded along solemnly. Then smiled.

“Nothing at all?” He asked, “Greed seemed positive you had feelings for your Colonel.”

Ed buried his head a little further into his knees, not willing to face the Emperor, especially not when only two weeks ago he’d come with Mustang’s rank on his lips. That had been a fluke, though. His sexuality was so mixed up with Mustang: not because he had a crush on the man, but because it was the rumours flying around HQ that had seen him repress his desires for so long. It made sense that when he finally accepted that part of himself the Colonel would be at the forefront of his mind. Right?

“Ah,” Ling assessed. “I see we still have some way to go on your journey of self-discovery.”

Alphonse arrived at half nine the next morning with an excitable, tiny Mei walking confidently at his side. Ed saw them being escorted into the palace by two heavy-set guards in their black uniforms and white half-masks from one of the windows of the second floor corridor as he was making his way back to his rooms from Ling’s. He’d only woken at nine, having spent the night curled up with Ling wrapped protectively under one arm – both of them not talking about what had transpired in the bed, and what it meant – and had quickly pulled last night’s Tang jacket over his head, shrugged into some trousers he was fairly certain were his, and tried to steal his way out the door.

Ling had slouched from the bed naked, met him at the heavy doors and taken Ed’s elbows in his hands, guiding him to crowd Ling up against the wall and connected them in a searing kiss. Before he knew it Ed had a hand in the Emperor’s hair, tilting his head slightly for better access, and had rocked his hips against the other man’s naked form. Ling had hummed against his lips, turned himself around with a flirty smile, and Ed had found some oils. Twenty-eight minutes later, sweaty and satisfied, he finally managed to leave the room.

On seeing Al outside, walking across the courtyard, however, the reality of what he had done the previous night, and again that morning, came crashing down around him. Alphonse would know; he realised. His brother would smell the sex on him. He’d take one look at Ed and realise what he’d been up to. And what was worse was that Ed wasn’t even upset with himself for the cheating he had partaken in. He was just terrified of someone finding out.

Dejectedly, he made his way back to his room. Alphonse’s meeting was with Ling. Ed had a little bit of time to get himself together before seeing his little brother, and the first thing he needed to do was give himself a wash down and get changed. His room had a small en-suite bathroom with a shower, and he turned it on hot and walked in to the spray; letting the water wash away some of the tension he’d accumulated on his short walk back to his own suite. He really was the worst kind of person, he decided, thinking of Winry, waiting for him in Rush Valley, working hard on Automail designs and fittings, earning the cenz to that Ed could jolly off to Xing under the guise of research. She’d been so understanding when he’d told her he wanted to make the journey, even though it had been clear that his leaving was the last thing she wanted, and he’d thrown that in her face by shacking up with Ling.

Except – being with Ling had been so much more, and so entirely different, from the various times he’d taken Winry to bed. Being with Ling had been a revelation. Sure, he liked Winry. He liked women. They were soft, and pretty, and had nice voices most of the time. And there was a particular kind of pleasure in feeling their yielding flesh under his fingers, and their plump lips against his. Or at least, his limited experience with Winry had lead him to expect as much should he ever branch out to other women. And yet – he’d always had an interest in men, and never allowed himself the opportunity to explore that. He’d fought down his instincts during his formative years thanks in part to his singular obsession with finding a way to regain his brother’s body, but also because of the whispers he had heard in the military, and he couldn’t exactly say it was surprising that being around someone as sexually-fluid and forward as Ling was would cause him to re-evaluate his own feelings.

Being in a place where he felt safe enough to look at that side of himself had caused his behaviour. It wasn’t Winry’s fault that he’d never been able to feel safe enough to do so before, of course – but it wasn’t Ed’s fault now that he was finally able to sort out his preferences. It didn’t mean he loved Winry less because he also enjoyed having sex with Ling. He could chalk it up to exploration, which he had thoroughly explored. He’d got it out of his system, and that was that. His options going forward were either to go off with Alphonse that afternoon to continue research – or go home to Winry. He definitely wouldn’t stay with Ling, because he’d learnt the things about himself that Ling wanted him to learn. He didn’t need further exploration. And whatever he decided, Winry didn’t have to know what had happened. It would only hurt her more if she did know.

He washed his hair, lathered some of the shampoo in to the hair under his arms, and around his crotch, tugging at his flaccid dick a little with his thumb to work out the oil and semen that had messed it that morning, and rinsed off, before turning off the spray and sighing into the empty room.

He was protecting her, by not telling her. And… he wouldn’t do it again. He couldn’t just throw away his relationship with her. She was his best friend, and she deserved his full attention. He’d been swept away by Ling and his flirty looks, and really he’d been played by his own need to explore that other side of himself – but that was over with now.

He towelled off, ran a brush and some oils through his hair, re-dressed in clothes that he had owned before arriving at the palace – a navy blue shirt and dark jeans – and at the last minute re-attached the chain with the flammel cross around his neck. Because it _was_ a very cool necklace. No other reason. He paused at the door to his rooms, then went back and packed his heavy rucksack, placing the crumpled Tang-jacket and Changshan at the bottom, and wrapping up the dagger Ling had given him in an old t-shirt before placing that in too. With all his extra gifts his bag was fuller and heavier than before; but he’d travelled light to begin with, so he wasn’t at risk of overspilling. He placed it on his back, and then quickly removed it again, putting it on the bed. He’d come back for it after he’d talked to Al. That way he had a chance to scan the room for anything he might have forgotten.

He had only made it a few steps outside his room when at the end of the corridor he spotted the distractingly attractive form of Gen, and he realised his tryst with Ling was not his only problem. The bath-attendant knew that Ed had been watching the previous night – that Ed had been getting off in the corner whilst Ling fucked this boy who wasn’t even legal in Amestris – and that afterwards he had stumbled over to the bed and been intimate in every way one _could_ be intimate with the Emperor of Xing. That kind of knowlegde was lethal as gossip – and powerful gossip to have a hold of. Would the boy talk? Ed knew first hand what rumours could do to a man.

And then there was the issue of Ling himself – what if Ling didn’t realise the importance of keeping their affair under wraps? What if he was in his office at that very moment, spilling the details to Alphonse and Mei?

Suddenly terrified, Ed set off at a run towards Ling’s office. He had knocked three times on the door and then swung it open without waiting for confirmation that he was allowed to enter, before he realised that was a bad idea. Instantly three guards swarmed him, but Ling cleared his throat from where he was sat behind the large desk, and they just as instantly backed away.

“Brother!” Al exclaimed in evident surprise. Mei, sat next to him, was blinking owlishly up at him.

“I… uh… I thought I should be here.” He finished lamely, stumbling over his words and generally coming across very not cool. Alphonse frowned slightly, but shrugged his shoulders.

“We were just discussing the travel and research funding, and what would be a reasonable figure. I was explaining the procedure of how we are gathering data. Then Mei will take over to go over the benefits of the research.” Al explained, tennis-balling his eyes between Ling and Ed. “Would you like to come in and, um… listen?”

Listen, because it couldn’t be more obvious Ed wasn’t needed to help back up the job. He was so far out of the loop when it came to the studies Al had been exploring with Mei, that any contribution he made would likely be outdated anyway. But still, listening at least gave him an excuse to keep an eye on the conversation and steer Ling away should he even allude to their activities the night before. So, feeling a little stupid, he nodded, easing himself along the side of the room on to a high-backed wooden chair and observing. Alphonse nodded once, and then immediately turned back to Ling, speaking rapidly about the processes he and Mei had defined and perfected in the last few months. Ed watched him for a while, mesmerized by his brother’s passion and blinding smile, and then surreptitiously moved his gaze to Ling.

He didn’t look as if he had spilled their secrets to Al, though if he had Edward would have seen it on Al’s face, not Ling’s. Alphonse hadn’t immediately punched him square in the face, so he assumed for the moment his secret was safe.

“Now Mei will explain why this research is so important.” Alphonse ended a little stiffly, gesturing towards Mei, who smiled and stood to begin her own presentation.

Ling, behind his ornate desk, rested his chin on the palm of his hand and put his elbow on the table, learning forwards slightly as tiny little Mei began to speak. He kept his eyes trained on her as she concisely listed out all the ways understanding Alkahestry to it’s fullest, and implementing their learnings to what the Amestrian’s were practising with Alchemy, would benefit both countries and strengthen what was currently a wobbly union between the two. Ed listened only half-heartedly, getting lost in the idea of the relationship between Xing and Amestris, and whether his presence in the Emperor’s bed had any affect on that. What if, when Ed later told Ling he had no wish to continue their affair, the Emperor took that as an insult?

He’d once heard that Mustang was attempting to create trade routes with Xing, and hoped to procure permission to begin work on a rail-road across the desert that could connect the two countries. If Ed had messed that up because he couldn’t keep it in his pants then the Colonel would kill him. Well, if he still cared about what Ed did any more.

“Edward.”

Ed snapped out of his thoughts and glanced across at Ling, who had said his name quite firmly.

“Y-yes?” He asked, glancing back at Al to make sure he hadn’t missed Ling revealing anything world-shattering.

“Is there anything you’d like to add?” Ling asked, tone firm as if he was having to repeat himself. Ed licked his lips nervously.

“Oh, um...” He faltered. He had barely paid attention to what Mei had been saying, and it becoming more and more clear how very not needed he was. His two options entering the room had been to run off with Alphonse on research, or to go back to Winry, and it was looking more and more likely he would be making the trip across the desert back to the woman waiting for him in Rush Valley. “No.” He finally admitted.

Ling smirked at him.

“Well then,” He sighed dramatically, shuffling some papers. “I’ll have Xuan-Li draft up some paperwork organising the grant I can provide you and a contract of how it should be used. Perhaps in the mean time the three of you would enjoy a light breakfast, and to discuss what research you’ve completed in the two weeks you have been apart. I know Edward has spent _nearly_ every moment in the Library.”

Edward wasn’t sure how Ling managed to lace one little word with so much innuendo, but he counted himself lucky that Alphonse and Mei were innocent enough that they missed the Emperor’s suggestive tone. Instead Alphonse smiled brightly.

“You spoil us!” He grinned, getting to his feet with the help of his cane. Ed stood to help him, but Mei already had a hand on his elbow, and he stopped. Another moment of realisation that the two of them worked just fine without Ed in the picture.

Ling smirked back.

“I’m sure Edward can show you to the casual dining room. I’ll send Gen to the kitchens to ask them to prepare you something.” Ed shot a look at Ling once more at the mention of the pretty catamite, his heart beating double-time in his chest. Ling was watching him carefully, so he turned back to Alphonse with a forced calmness.

“Let’s go.” He mumbled, beginning to lead the way.  
  


By the time they had finished Ling’s idea of a light breakfast (luckily not waited on by Gen) Edward was more convinced than ever that his presence in the research team was ceremonial at best. He may have once been the Fullmetal Alchemist, the brightest and most genius scientist of his time – but now he couldn’t even perform a single transmutation, and it was abundantly clear that Alphonse had surpassed him in all aspects of scientific research. Every piece of evidence Edward had scoured from the Palace Library and had thought new and exciting had been met with patient, knowing smiles, and a gentle rebuttal that they had already extensively looked into the concept themselves.

Then Mei had begun to explain that from the Capital they planned on travelling to the Northern most clans, as during the winter it had been too treacherous to reach them, but now that summer had arrived the roads leading to those villages were slightly less icy and snowed under. Ed had been put in mind of Briggs, and when Alphonse had gently asked if his Automail was still of the light alloy variety that was less likely to freeze over, Edward had baulked at the idea of such a long, dangerous trek.

Honestly, at seventeen years old, he was simply too old for this shit.

If faced with a choice between travelling North, camping each night, and freezing his balls off, or travelling back across the desert and at least having Winry waiting for him with a freshly baked pie and her warm, inviting embrace; he knew which one he would choose. Although crossing the desert in the July heat held absolutely no appeal either.

He bid Alphonse a fair well by the visitors exit with the excuse he needed to go collect his things, one way or another, and resolved to make his decision as he plodded back up to his room to grab his travelling bag. The bag filled with clothes and gifts the Emperor had given him. He thought longingly that he could do with one more bath before he set out. Then, there, standing in front of the door to the room he had been staying in for the past two weeks, was Ling.

“Edward.” He greeted wistfully as Ed came to him. The blonde glanced behind himself to see if anyone was watching, but they were quite alone. Ling smiled. “Will you be leaving to research with your brother?”

Ed bit his lip, wishing Ling wasn’t in front of the door so he could grab his stuff and run.

“I don’t know.” He admitted. Ling nodded his head to the side in a show of understanding.

“Or back to the lovely miss Rockbell.” He laid out the other choice. Ed sighed. “Crossing the desert in this heat. You’re a braver man than I.”

Ed shrugged his shoulders gently, rolling them to give himself time to come up with something to respond with.

“I don’t have much in the way of a choice. I get sea-sick.”

That much was true. There was a huge ferry that shuttled people from a couple of ports in Aerugo around to the Great Southern port in Xing. It took three days, but cut out the entirety of the desert. Trader’s used it to shuttle spices and artisan wares , trading them for Aerugan fish. Ed had thought about using it to get to Xing, but the fare was expensive and the few times he had been on boats in the rivers of Amestris, that flowed out into Aerugo and Creta, he hadn’t been able to keep anything down. He imagined it would be much worse on the sea.

“You could stay here a little longer.” Ling offered. Ed flinched.

“Why?” He asked, “So we can fuck and you can pretend you’re him?” He huffed, his guilt over their affair causing him to lash out in anger.

Ling’s face contorted in anger of his own, but it quickly disappeared, replaced with his calculating mask of amusement. He caught Ed’s arm so Ed couldn’t try to leave, leaned in, and whispered into the blonde’s ear.

“I wasn’t the only one pretending that I was someone else. Who was I for you?”

Ed ripped his arm away quickly, feeling a flush on his face that he was powerless to stop. His face had always given away his emotions and desires, even when he tried so hard to blank it. Ling rose a challenging eyebrow at him, as if daring Ed to disagree – but Ed knew that no matter what he said Ling would believe him a liar.

“Just until the heat has passed.” Ling pressed. “Miss Rockbell wont thank me if I send you back to her with heatstroke, or if you never make it across the desert at all.”

Ed swallowed. Ling made it so easy to justify staying.

“We… we can’t… do that… again.” He attempted to bargain. Ling huffed out a small laugh.

“Why?” He questioned. “Because you feel guilty? Because it isn’t right? Who decides what’s right or wrong, Edward? My father had fifty wives, and countless concubines. Your country might value monogamy, but Xing is different.”

“But I’m Amestrian.” Ed excused. Ling smirked.

“Well, what happens in Xing...” He replied, almost musically. Ed had heard the saying before about Creta, which was the world’s epicentre for free ideals and values. What happens in Creta, stays in Creta. Ling was butchering it for his own purposes, but the idea that the secret would stay just between them did have the Amestrian swaying in the Emperor’s favour.

He glanced once more at the door to his room, which held his bag, with all the gifts Ling had given him. The chance to stay a while longer, to avoid the heat of the desert, and the cold of the Northern Clans, and to remain in some way useful to someone, was very, very tempting.

Slowly, knowing he was likely to regret this, he agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will be updated over weekends from now on, as I am back to work and University. I will try and keep to weekly updates, but can't guarantee that. 
> 
> Thanks!


	4. Spinning a Web

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Afterwards, it was easier again to justify the next time, and the next.

Edward had told Winry that he had more research to attend to in the palace. But he didn’t. He had momentarily tossed up with the idea of telling her Alphonse had needed him after all, but he was smart enough to know that if you were going to tell a lie you could only rely on yourself to uphold it. And besides, telling anyone the lie that he was more useful than he was always seemed to get stuck in his throat. As it was, he had a ready made excuse for both Winry and Alphonse in the ancient Xerxian texts Ling had gifted him during his stay. He told them both he would be staying in the palace to get a better grips of the details hidden in the pages, without revealing the books were actually gifts he could take with him and go home with. Instead he told them specifically that Ling wanted the books to remain in the palace, and justified it to himself that Ling had very little to do with Alphonse or Winry outside of himself, so his lie was unlikely to be revealed. As such, the months that followed Alphonse’s departure from the Capital, and Edward’s lie to both he and Winry, passed Edward in a whirlwind of pretty bath-attendants and more gifts from Ling. He managed to avoid the man, outside of meals, for less than a week before the Emperor had shown up at his door when he was trying to retire to bed, inviting himself in and making his intentions clear by slipping from his robe and standing naked in the middle of the room.

Edward had been hard in an instant looking at all the creamy skin and hard lines of muscle on offer, and he’d turned away to stop himself from looking further; trying to keep himself from creeping his eyes down to the man’s hipbones and the curve of his buttocks and the obscene view of his cock jutting up towards his stomach with how hard he was. But Ling had deftly unbuckled the Amestrian’s belt, removed his clothes one by one, and run his fingers over Ed’s exposed stomach muscles, as Ed tried with all his might to keep his hands to himself. Ling had silently pushed him into sitting, bare-arsed, on the leather sofa in Ed’s rooms, and had straddled his thighs suggestively before Ed could even attempt to protest. Not that he would have had it in him to do so, as the Emperor squeezed his thighs in promise. Instead he resolutely kept his hands, balled in tight fists, at his sides, and took in a shuddering breath as Ling sank down on his cock with ease. One desperate gasp of pleasure later saw the Emperor’s tongue in his mouth, and then Ed’s hands were in long dark hair, and his hips were bucking upwards and Ling broke their kiss to throw back his head and Ed couldn’t help but follow him, sucking greedily at the exposed neck, marvelling at the creamy smooth skin of his friend, and how welcoming his body was.

“Yes. Yes! Yesss...” Ling chanted encouragingly, rocking down to meet Ed with every thrust, and with every sweaty shwip-like sound the leather of the sofa made as it tried to accommodate their fucking, it became easier.

Afterwards, it was easier again to justify the next time, and the next. With each added affair into the Emperor’s bedsheets Ed became more assured of his skills. Every time Ling cried out, or moaned, or swung his hips suggestively, Ed grew in confidence. He was exploring Ling, but he was also exploring himself in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to in the past – and every time he reminded himself of that, it became easier to forget the woman in Rush Valley.

Until one afternoon in mid December, when the first flurry of snow hit outside the Palace, and Ed was in the Emperor’s conference room, with Ling bent over the large, rounded, mahogany table with his golden robe thrown over his back to bare his behind – buried three fingers deep and massaging the man’s prostate thoroughly as the Emperor moaned and writhed. He’d certainly learned more than a few tricks in his time there, and he was putting them to good use. This particular foray was perhaps their most naughty to date, given that Ling had told him that morning, leaning against the desk in his study with his legs spread invitingly, that delegates were arriving from Amestris in the evening and would be using the room for discussions with the Emperor and his entourage, and as such they should make use of the room while they could.

Edward has dragged him there the moment Ling had managed to duck out of the various engagements he had been needed for that day, and they’d found themselves getting busy just as the sky was darkening.

“Edward, oh – Yes!” Ling encouraged, pushing back against his fingers. Edward huffed noisily in response. He wanted to take his time, have Ling get off just on his fingers and need, but the delegates would be arriving at any moment and the Emperor would be required to meet them. Besides, his cock was throbbing urgently in need. He palmed at it through his leather trousers. “Fuck me.” Ling ordered, and it was all the enticement Ed needed.

He drew down his zip with one hand and awkwardly shoved at his trousers and boxers until they were midway down his thighs and his dick was accessible, and used the pot of oil he’d been using to lube his fingers to slick himself up, before pushing in to Ling with a couple of quick and dirty thrusts.

“Oh, oh, fuck.” Ling swore, shoulders tensing slightly at the intrusion, and resting his forehead against the conference table. “Yes, just like that.” He praised, “Quickly now.”

Ed slammed his hips forwards with enough force that Ling was bucked into the table, and the Emperor cried out as Ed hissed his approval for the tight heat surrounding him. He quickly established a fast, brutal pace. Harder. Faster. No time for finesse, or something akin to romance, or any of that. They had minutes, if that, and if Ling wanted to hold this meeting with Ed’s come dripping out of his used hole, then Ed would oblige.

The image of it, of Ling sat across from the nameless, faceless, Amestrian men in their military blues, leaning nonchalantly back in his seat, and feeling the sticky mess between his legs, had Ed bucking forward frantically, crying out a broken sound as he spilled inside the other man. He quickly reached around to bring Ling to the brink too, and breathed a sigh of relief when not too long after, before Ed had gone fully soft inside him, Ling breathed out with a forced calmness as he released on to the conference table.

As he pulled out and Ling bent to pull up his underwear and straighten himself up, Ed could see the white stickiness of it at the edge of the mahogany, and couldn’t help but smirk down as he gingerly zipped himself back up over his now flaccid dick.

“How long do we have?” He asked. Ling looked at him languidly over his shoulder, smoothing down the robe Ed had messed up.

“I expect Brigadier-General Mustang and his men will be arriving any minute.”

The words sent a shock wave of something cold and dreadful straight through Ed. It must have shown on his face, because the Emperor couldn’t hide his own self-satisfied smirk. It occurred to Edward that Ling had kept that information from him deliberately until the last minute. For the last four months the man had been trying to get Ed to open up about whatever feelings he thought Ed had for Mustang every time they were lying face-down in pillows after fucking, and now that the man was coming to the Palace Ling had simply conveniently forgotten to mention it? None of that sat right with Edward at all, and he reminded himself that Ling was as sneaky as he was powerful.

Edward was transported back to standing silently in a hospital room, looking at eerily pale eyes that couldn’t see him, and all of his regrets from Promised Day, the ones he had been happily ignoring in favour of bending Ling over every available surface, came back to the forefront of his mind. For a second he couldn’t breathe. He took three big breaths but they never seemed to reach his lungs, and they exhaled again in short bursts. He couldn’t get enough air. Then Ling was talking again.

“Will you wish to speak to your old Commanding Officer? Should I make some time for the two of you to -”

“No!” Ed all but shouted, finally coming back to his senses and gulping in the air he couldn’t get before. “N-no.” He repeated, the words sounding calmer. He’d never had to pretend at calm so hard in his life. “I would… I would prefer it if he didn’t know I was here.”

He knew Ling didn’t owe him anything, but he caught eye-contact with the man to show how much he would appreciate his presence being kept quiet.

“I see.” Ling replied cryptically. Ed’s brow furrowed. Ling held up his hands in a universal sign of peace. “Edward...”

“I’m going to leave. In the morning.” Edward ground out, looking out the window and seeing the weather. Ling followed his gaze.

“You’ll freeze to death trying to cross the desert in a snowstorm.” He admonished.

Ed shook his head. He didn’t care. He had to try. He couldn’t keep coming up with excuses to stay. He hated that he hadn’t known about Mustang’s arrival, but it was the wake-up call he needed. He’d promised himself he would get his act together in Xing, then return to Central and prove he was every bit the prodigy his old team had thought he was – and yet what had he done since arriving in the Capital? He’d spent four and a half months screwing the Emperor and cheating on the woman he supposedly loved. He was in a vicious cycle of making bad choices, and he couldn’t let Mustang know he was there. Not when all he had to show for himself was a hickey Ling had left on him the day before.

He really was the worst. He needed to go back to Winry. He needed to commit himself to her. To the beautiful, wonderful woman who supported him no matter what. To the woman who literally got him back on his feet when he’d lost his leg, and who would do it all again now that he’d lost his way.

“I’m leaving at first light.” He told Ling. “Don’t let Mustang know I’m here.”

Ling nodded his head, as Ed went to leave the conference room. Then the Emperor reached out and caught Ed’s hand in his to stop him in his tracks.

“Don’t wait forever.” He said, reminding Ed of how over a year prior he’d said those same words as Ed ran away from Mustang’s hospital room.

“I’m not waiting forever.” He huffed, “It’s just… not the right time.”

Edward didn’t know when the right time would be. But he knew that shacking up with the Emperor of Xing and floundering with no purpose in life, wasn’t it.

* * *

“Edward!”

Winry’s arms around his neck were the smoothest, most soothing thing Ed could dream of. The moment he stepped off the train in Rush Valley Station she was there, rushing forwards towards him with her beautiful smile and her arms outstretched in welcome. He dropped his bag right there in the middle of the doorway as other commuters tried to ease their way around him, and curled his arms around her slim waist, burying his nose in the crook of her neck. She sighed daintily against his shoulder and then turned her face and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Your hair smells amazing, what is that?” She asked, drawing back, and taking his bag from the ground. It was clearly heavier than she expected, but she didn’t complain, and simply hefted it on to her own back with a smile. She was wearing the cream hoodie Ed was favourable to, and looked adorable in it.

“Ling gave me some oils.” He confessed, a little breathless, and feeling like a liar because there was much more to the story than Ling simply being generous. It wouldn’t do Winry any good to know the details, though.

It had been a horrid three days across the desert, camping out at night in the freezing cold and barely sleeping for fear of not waking up again, and then another half-days travel by train to get to Rush Valley (in which he’d almost missed his stop because he had been sleeping _too_ much) and being able to fall in to Winry’s arms and have her take care of him was a wonderfully calming feeling. She smiled at him now, and it was so easy to return. It felt like falling back in to an old familiar blanket, smelling the scents of his childhood, and feeling safe and secure again.

Although he’d never tell Winry she was an old blanket, she _did_ hold the same appeal, the same sweet security.

“I’ve missed you so much.” She told him, putting her arm through his and nestling her head into his shoulder.

That was novel; different from the reminders of childhood she usually bought out in him. He thought once more of how he had grown up with this woman, back when womanhood alluded her, and how she had always been taller than him. Although it had been awhile since he’d overtaken her in height, he still loved the feeling of looking down at the top of her head, and how sweet she looked peering up at him. His chest puffed a little at the reminder of how he had finally grown, and he stopped their walk into the Valley, right there in the middle of the dirt track leading away from the station, to turn to her and sweep her into a kiss.

She was shorter than Ling, and he held her elbows and had to bend his neck a fair amount to accommodate her shorter stature. She even went up on to her tiptoes to help out, and still he was bent. He sighed in to her lips, which he imagined came off as wistful, a testament to his missing of her, and yet was not. By gods, she was beautiful, and soft, and homely, and her lips were plump and yielding in a way Ling’s hadn’t been. And her body moulded against his in a pliable way that Ling’s hard lines hadn’t. And she was innocent in a way he hadn’t been, in a way that excited Ed. But still it felt wrong.

To counteract that he brushed a strand of her long blonde hair behind her ears, feeling the familiar feel of the metal in her cartilage, and buried his hand in her hair, cradling the back of her head to tilt it further up and deepen their kiss. She whimpered in to his mouth, a sound he hadn’t heard in months, and he instinctively rocked his hips forwards in response – half expecting to find the hard line of Ling’s cock waiting to rut against his own, and only finding Winry’s soft stomach instead. He gasped at how unfamiliar it felt, and Winry gasped too, breaking their kiss and looking up at him with blue eyes darkened with excitement.

“We’re in public.” She told him breathlessly. The promise of what she would allow in privacy loud and clear. Ed smiled down at her sweet face, cupped her cheeks in between both his hands, and pressed a chaster kiss to her lips.

“Then take me home.” He implored her.

She smiled into another kiss and nodded her head, taking his hand in hers as they continued down the road into the Valley. As they grew closer he began to hear the familiar sounds of the busy streets going about their day. Rush Valley was always busy – it had well and truly earned it’s name – and as they made their way through the streets to the flat Winry rented, a few doors down from Garfiel’s place, people were shouting greetings to each other, comparing metal limbs, and going about their daily business with a hustle and bustle not found in the more rural Eastern settlements. They turned right just as Ed spotted the purple door of Atelier Garfiel, Winry’s mentor’s shop, and half jogged up the fire-escape stairs that lead to Winry’s flat. Underneath was a run-down old store-front that hadn’t been in use for years, and Winry had told him countless times that one day she was going to set up her own store there, for her designs.

Ed had no doubt she would achieve that. She already had a loyal customer base, and Garfiel was kind enough that he wouldn’t begrudge her setting out on her own. It had always been the deal when she started her apprenticeship under him anyway. He glanced in to the shop-windows now, noting the dusty shelving and cluttered old furniture littered inside, and felt a pang of guilt. There wasn’t exactly much money in research – if any at all. Often times Ed spent more than he could make, and Winry had been footing his bill for a while. The flat was hers. The dream for her own shop was being put on hold because Edward had wanted to run off to Xing and meet with his little brother. And Winry had bankrolled him because she understood how important his relationship with Alphonse was, and he had repaid that kindness by spending his months in the country nowhere near his brother, in the arms of the Emperor. Looking at his own reflection in the window pane, guilt was written all over his face.

“Are you coming up or what?” Winry asked, standing at the top of the stairs.

Ed glanced towards her, having to tilt his head upwards more familiar and nostalgic, and tried for a smile. He couldn’t say for certain it had come out as kindly as he hoped, but she seemed satisfied nonetheless as he jogged up the metal steps towards her. She turned the key in the lock, and let them in to the flat she had begun to rent when she had first taken on her apprenticeship with Garfiel. Each room was quite small, but there was a decent amount of them. It was listed as two bedrooms, but Winry had given up one of them as Ed’s study space; which meant her Automail design drawings and notes were generally spread out over the kitchen counter, and they often argued about the lack of space. It only occurred to Ed in that moment that she was much more entitled to the second bedroom than he was.

He watched as she placed his bag down on the floor next to the puffy red sofa in the living space, and turned back to him with a flush on her cheeks, smiling widely. He leant against the wall for a moment as he took her in. She was his age – just seventeen, but she seemed much older than he did. She had her life together – a flat, a steady job, good relationships with people in her chosen town – and it showed on her face. She was much more of a woman than Ed felt he could ever be a man. He still felt lost without the military to fall back on. More times than he could count he found himself regretting handing in his resignation.

“C’mere.” He finally ordered, holding out his hands, and Winry came willingly; walking in to his arms confidently, falling the last step and wrapping herself around him. He pushed his nose in to her blonde locks and took a deep breath. Metal and polishing oil. It kind of reminded him of Hawkeye; when she used to clean her guns, but was a scent so very easily attributed to his gear-head girlfriend. He liked the alliteration of that, and found himself smiling in to her hair.

She slipped her hands down to his lower back, and pressed a gentle kiss to his collar-bone, and he rocked forwards and felt the yield of her boobs until they didn’t yield any more and she was left feeling firm against his chest. He wondered whether the tightness of the embrace was hurting her, but she didn’t complain, she just continued to kiss his neck – feminine, pretty kisses with soft, wet lips. Different from the hard sucks Ling would leave in the same places.

He shook his head slightly, sighing. Don’t think about Ling, he told himself. There was a beautiful woman directly in front of him – kind, stunning and willing – and she was the only thing he needed to focus on. He had done his exploring. It was time to give his all to Winry.

He gathered her up in his arms, lifting her bodily off the floor and spinning them both until her back was to the wall, and leant down to capture her lips in a kiss. He placed one forearm above her head on the wall, crowding her, and her hands came up to fist the material of his shirt as he explored her lips and tongue. He’d done this so many times before, but it felt a little different now. Perhaps it was the months apart – or perhaps it was that he had more experience now. Before he had only ever known Winry’s touch, and he believed she had only ever known his. Now, as he pushed his tongue inside her mouth and felt her shiver around him, he had more of an idea of what things were good in general, and what things only she liked. It was strange how knowing the touch of someone else made him feel he knew _her_ even better, but it did.

His hands travelled down to her shoulders, then her back, then up to her breasts, feeling the warmth of them in his cupped hands, even through the thick material of the hoodie and her bra. She smiled in to his kiss, and stepped him backwards. A moment later, he had fallen backwards over the arm of the sofa, landing with a poof on his back. She smirked at him from above, and then climbed over the arm and settled herself on his lap with a thigh on either side of him. He breathed out a little shakily. She was so beautiful. So sweet. So soft under his fingers. He slipped the hoodie from her shoulders, and pushed his hands up under the tank top she was wearing underneath, playing the tips of his fingers on the under wire of her bra. She smoothed her own hands down over his arms, ducked her head and placed gentle kisses to every bit of exposed skin she could find. He rocked his hips upwards once, then again, letting her feel the hardness under his trousers, pressing up against her pussy from below.

Her eyes slipped closed in bliss and the familiar feeling of achievement almost overwhelmed Ed. He’d thought for a moment he may have forgotten how to pleasure a woman – but having Winry with him, on him, all around him, it came to him as naturally as pleasing Ling had been in the palace. Which, after a moment of relief, only served to confuse him more. Sexuality wasn’t a foreign concept to him – not after all the nasty rumours he’d dealt with in his teenage years, but he could admit the entire situation was sitting just on the wrong side of his understanding. Straight would be his ideal, but he could admit now that clearly he wasn’t that. In the palace, pleasing Ling and shamefully lusting after Gen, he had begun to view himself as a closeted gay man. Yet… even in the elaborate, stunning setting of the palace, with the Emperor hanging off his touch, he’d had his eyes drawn to women too. And here, with Winry, he could think of nothing better than to be with her as intimately as he could.

So what the hell did that make him? A nymphomaniac perhaps? Who would take his jollies where-ever they appeared? Some kind of greedy sex-monster who simply wanted every person who waltzed on by? Was it even possible to be sexually attracted to both genders? Were they not, fundamentally, incredibly different? Were not people _supposed_ to have a type?

Suddenly (although Edward suspected it was, in fact, not very suddenly at all) there was a hand gently caressing his cheek. Winry’s warm palm giving comfort in a small, but very effective way. He leant in to it.

“Edward?” She asked, voice uncertain, brow furrowed, looking lost – younger, smaller – and he remembered Winry’s penchant for shyness when they fucked. His getting lost in thought would only send her in to a spiral of worry.

To make up for it he used the muscles he seemed to finally be growing in to flip their position – landing her on her back on the sofa, and hovering over her between her legs. He peeled the Levi jeans from her skin, shimmying them down her legs awkwardly, and following them down with kisses. She’d shaved – not that day, perhaps the day before, as there was a prickly stubble on her shins. He playfully bit at one, and she yelped out a surprised laugh. The sound was electric enough to send a shiver of arousal through him, making him even harder in his own cotton trousers. He rocked down in to the sofa to relieve a little pressure, and reached upwards to drag her lacy knickers down as well.

This was usually where Winry got very shy – her legs would close and she would suddenly refuse to meet his eye. He found it endearing about her, that she would show as much skin as she did in her daily routine, and would not lose her confidence until the second her pussy was exposed. He’d asked her once why she was so sensitive about it – after all Edward had never said anything at all about the brush of hair and pink folds between her legs – he’d certainly never said anything _bad_. On the contrary, he was fairly certain that during sex he had a habit of babbling on about how incredibly _good_ she felt around him.

Her response had been surprisingly honest. She’d never seen it herself, but she had once delivered a baby, and during that time it had occurred to her that the vagina was not an attractive feature. Ed had reminder her that it probably looked rather different whilst a baby was being pushed out, but Winry had only become more worried because she then had no real idea of what it should look like, and if hers was ‘normal’. Ed thought to himself then, as her legs closed predictably, that Winry must be purely straight, for she couldn’t even theoretically see the appeal of her vagina, which was, of course, perfectly normal. Nobody’s genitalia was pretty, Ed certainly wasn’t attracted only to a woman’s pussy or a man’s cock – but the attraction of what either sex organ could do could trick one in to believing it was something attractive, especially when it was on an attractive person. And as such, Winry’s was absolutely gorgeous.

He made it very clear by nudging her knees apart and crawling up in to the space created. He wanted at least to not put his time cheating on her to waste – he had learnt a trick or two in the palace and Winry was the rightful benefactor of his learnings. As such, he nuzzled his nose down in to the brush of golden hair, and then dipped lower and laved his tongue over her sensitive clit. Immediately there was a hand in his hair, and Ed grinned as he sucked the pink nub in to his mouth and swirled his tongue over it – light, because too much pressure was too much at all – and Winry whimpered gently above him, hand clenching and unclenching in his locks. She was straining to close her legs – but she’d only end up with her thighs on his ears anyway, and he was keeping them spread with hands on her knees. He could feel the tension in them; a pure, sexual thing, and he gently swept his thumb over her skin in what he hoped was a calming gesture, before dipping lower still and lapping with his tongue at her folds.

She was wet. The first glistening sheen of arousal painting her labia, and Ed licked it up like it was sweet nectar, although in reality it tasted bitter like iron and strangely tangy. He doubted his sperm tasted any better, and Winry had never complained about swallowing that down. He swirled inwards, taking deep breaths in through his nose, listening intently to make sure Winry’s noises of pleasure remained pleasured, and put himself to good use. He tensed his tongue, making it as hard as the soft muscle could go, and used it to press inside.

“Oh! Oh god! Edward!” Winry cried, and Ed’s tongue was too busy for a victorious smile, but inside he felt as if he was.

Winry arched, and Ed followed her up and down again in to the soft cushions on the sofa, using his tongue to fuck in and out of her, getting her even wetter than before, allowing his spit to dribble down his chin and collect at her opening, and enjoying the heady achievement of getting her so hot and bothered. She twisted as if trying to get away from him, so he eased off a little; used the flat of his tongue to lick back up to her clit, and used it to stroke her until she was panting and tugging on his hair in a way he had learnt meant she wanted him inside her. She would never say it out loud, she was too shy to vocalise her wants, and he’d learnt to rely on her body to hint at her desires. Not like Ling, who guided him through each step with clear, concise instructions.

But, he reminded himself once more, he wasn’t with Ling. He wasn’t thinking about Ling.

He kissed the inner of her thigh, shuffled himself off the sofa to shimmy out of his own trousers and underwear, and took himself in hand as he stood before her, lying on the sofa waiting for him. She looked debauched, and beautiful in it. Her hair was in disarray, and Ed realised she must have messed it up herself, because he’d been rather busy down below. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and her mouth was slightly open to get more air to her lungs. He loved her like this. Raw. Open. Vulnerable in a way she had never been as a child – not even the day her parents had died. Winry’s go to emotion back then had been anger; she was too brave and self-sufficient to show weakness of any kind, and when she felt vulnerable it came out in bursts of aggression. She’d grown as a person, but she was still like that to some extent. Anger, then tears, then back to normal. But this kind of vulnerability only came from trust, and Ed loved to see his friend so trusting of him.

Even as it stabbed him in the heart as he realised how much he didn’t deserve that trust.

He pulled his shirt from his body, and motioned for her to do the same; keeping his eyes glued to her as she peeled the hoodie from her chest, catching up her tank-top at the same time, and revealing unblemished skin beneath. She reached around herself to unhook her bra and let it fall to the ground with his cream hoodie, and Ed was transfixed by the dusky pink of her nipples, flat and smooth at the tips of her warm, fleshy breasts. He’d once been told by a very drunk Havoc that the best thing about boobs was how they felt when you buried your head between them, and how they felt so warm and soft against each cheek. Ed had never actually tried it, as he suspected Winry would take it as an affront, but looking at them after so many months of being exclusively with a man, the idea of it was incredibly appealing. To cup one in each hand, and be enveloped by the titanium scent of her skin. Instead, he kissed a line from her neck down the centre of her ribs, encouraging her back on to her back on the sofa, and left the idea of burying himself in her tits for another day.

He fell in to her, more than anything suave. He collapsed on to the sofa between her legs, pulled her thighs on to the top of his and leant down to capture her in a kiss, not caring that he had the taste of her wetness still on his tongue, whilst rocking against her. He’d done dirtier things in the palace, after all. Although, once more, he wasn’t thinking about that. She was wet, but it wasn’t like lube, it didn’t yield in quite the same way, and it took a few intense moments of pressure before he finally rocked past the initial tightness and was able to move more freely. Winry’s mildly discomforted breaths turned more pleasured, her gasps turning to moans, as he sunk in to the warmth of her. He was having to hold himself up with his arms to stop from crushing her, but he shifted his weight to his stronger left arm and used his right to run his fingers down her side. He was still, over a year after getting it back, getting used to feeling things properly with his right arm again, and he loved the softness of her skin under his fingertips, which felt so foreign with his newest limb. He brought it up to her chest, brushed his thumb-pad over the swell of one of her nipples, and closed his eyes, trying to take in the physical overload of his senses all at once. She was so pliant underneath him. So understanding and patient as he started slow and tried to breath her in. He focused on the fleshy feel of her thighs wrapped around his hips, her ankles digging almost painfully in to his lower back. Pushing slightly, encouraging him deeper, although she would never say as much with words. He buried his head next to hers on the sofa, breathed in the scent of her apple shampoo and got long blonde hairs up his nose, making him want to laugh. And he fucked deeper and harder in the way that made her moans turn to high-pitched little yelps with every exhale. He crowded himself around her, and she, in turn, wrapped herself up in him. He never felt like he could get close enough when they were like this. He was inside her, but he wanted to be closer still.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He chanted with every breath.

Winry returned the sentiments in kind with prayer – calling out for a god that Ed had never believed in. He imagined she didn’t put much faith in the idea either, but the name was something to say – something to plead to when pleasure was crashing down around her, and she was chasing the feeling of it, trying to focus it inside herself. He wanted to help her get there, but with the position he didn’t have enough room to reach between them to rub at her clit, and his hips were thrusting in to her almost without any thought from him – just working on instinct and need. He was close, oh so close, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d come whilst she was still awhile a way from the finish line.

He felt guilty that his first thought was that with Ling it was easier – men in general were easier to get there. His limited understanding of the different genders stretched far enough that he knew women often found it hard to finish from penetrative sex, and took much longer to achieve orgasm then men. It seemed a cruel twist of nature that men and women should traditionally be so attracted to each other if their sexual timings were so clearly mismatched.

Which was an odd thought to come to, but nonetheless a moment later Ed’s hips were stuttering forwards, pushing as deep as he could inside of Winry, and he was coming. Winry breathed in a deep breath through her nose at the feeling, and her calloused hand rubbed gentle circles on his back as he rode out the orgasm, whispering sweet encouragements in his ear. And after a moment he hefted himself back on to both his arms and gingerly pulled out. Winry’s face scrunched up in discomfort, but it eased out a moment later once he was fully out, and had sunk down on to the floor beside the sofa and rested his head against her hip. She patted his head fondly. He reached for her, to try and get her there, but she sat up and cut off any access to her clit.

“You should finish.” Ed told her, kneeling and looking up at her from the floor. She pressed an affectionate kiss to his forehead.

“I’m fine.” She told him, sitting naked on the sofa, and more confident in her skin after the act. “I’m just happy to have you home. We’ve plenty of time now for all that to come later.”

Ed rested his cheek down on her knee, and her hand returned to his hair. He loved the tactile nature of it all.

They stayed for a moment more, just wrapped up in each other; Winry stroking his hair and drawing circles over his shoulders, and Ed nuzzling against her knee and running his right hand up and down her prickly shin, before the position started to become uncomfortable and Ed stood, stretching in all his nakedness, before bending to pull on his trousers. He didn’t bother with putting his shirt back on. Winry stood after him and pulled on her knickers and the hoodie, but in turn didn’t bother with jeans or her bra. He appraised her for a moment – it was far too quick to think he could get it up for her again, but she looked sexy enough that he wanted to. The idea of _his_ cream hoodie pressed directly to the swell of her tits sent shivers of arousal through him even if his cock wasn’t yet on board. He pressed a hard kiss to her mouth instead, and she giggled against him, pressing her soft line against his harder one. They fit together well, he thought; for the most part.

“I made up some sandwiches and wrapped them up. They’re in the fridge.” She told him once they parted, ever the organiser. “You should go eat. I’ll unpack for you.”

Ed smiled against her.

“Thanks, Win.” He told her, letting her go to make his way in to the small kitchen.

As he came back out with a plate of lovingly made sandwiches he saw Winry pick up his travel bag and place it on the sofa they’d just fucked on. He leant against the wall to eat and watch her look after him. She’d always been very good at looking after him. She dragged out all his clothes, didn’t bother to fold them because they were all in need of a wash, and placed them all in a pile – and then began to sift through the presents Ling had gifted him during his stay.

“Did you go shopping?” She teased, looking over her shoulder with a playful smirk. Ed began to grow uncomfortable.

“Ling is just a generous host.” He excused, taking a larger than necessary bite so he didn’t have to add any more detail.

Winry seemed to buy it, shrugging her shoulders as she placed his new dagger, and oils, and necklace amongst a growing pile of other gifts Ling had presented him with. Then she got to the bottom of the bag and pulled out the three books on Xerxes that Ling had given him. All too slowly the lie Edward had told Winry about why he had to stay in the palace came back – that he was using Ling’s books on Xerxes for research, and they had to stay inside the palace walls. His mouth went dry.

Winry paused on them, looking over their old leather covers, brushing her thumb over the golden lettering on the front which spelt out their titles.

“I thought -” She began, and Ed spoke over her, panicked.

“When I said I wanted to go home Ling all of a sudden said I could take them with me. I thought they needed to stay at the palace but… well, like I said, Ling is very generous.” He lied, dread pooling in his stomach.

Winry looked between him and books for a moment longer, a short moment, but it felt long to Ed, who was sure she was about to call him out on his lies.

“That’s very kind.” She finally told him. “I suppose I’ve just missed you – it would have been nice to have you home sooner, and if Ling had said something beforehand I could have done.”

Ed breathed out a sigh of relief she had believed his excuse, and shoved himself away from the wall, placing the plate of half finished sandwiches down on a small side-table next to the sofa as he made his way to his girlfriend. He felt awful that her only thoughts were that he had been away too long. If she had known all of things he had got up to in Xing, would she still be so understanding and kind? He’d thought earlier that she was prone to anger, before finally releasing her tears, and he realised he had no wish to make her cry.

It wasn’t fair on her at all. She was so wonderful. He needed to focus on her, and everything she did for him. There would be no more Ling, and no more cheating of any kind. It was time to repay her kindness.

“Hey, Win?” He asked, getting her attention as he reached her. She had put the books down on the pile of presents and turned to him. He put a hand on her elbow and another on her cheek. “You give me half of your life, and I’ll give you half of mine, right?” He asked, reiterating the words he’d used when he’d asked her out. She had responded so adorably at the time, and even now she blushed at his words. He smiled down at her.

“Yeah.” She agreed.

Except at the time she’d said she would give him her whole life. And Ed realised now that the equivalence of half when she had promised all was unbalanced. She truly thought of him always, and he had spent his other ‘half’ fucking the Emperor in Xing. It was time he upped his bet, and went all in. It was time he gave her all of his life as well.

“Marry me.” He said. It should have been a question, but it came out like a demand. Winry should have made him try again – she should have made him get down on one knee with a ring and ask her right. She deserved to have a proper proposal. Instead, she nodded.

“Yeah.” She agreed, “Of course.” As if it wasn’t even a question at all. In retrospect, it never had been a question. He was always meant to marry her. Of course he was.

Ed nodded back, pulled her in for a hug. She wrapped her arms around his back and once more it just didn’t feel close enough. No more cheating. No more treating his beautiful woman like second best. He needed to throw his all in to her now. Throw his all in to the wedding, and once he’d taken vows to love and care for her until his dying breath then… then he’d have a purpose again. A mission that wouldn’t end until the day he died. There couldn’t be anything wrong with that.

“I’m going to get you a ring.” He promised, cuddling her even closer to him. She nodded against his chest. “Don’t tell anyone until I’ve got you a ring.”

Winry nodded again, so willing to go along with his floundering. He loved her even more. She pushed him to arms length and grinned up at him, as if it had only just occurred to her that he had actually proposed. In a way, it had always felt inevitable. It wasn’t a shock. It was just the next logical step in their relationship, and it occurred to Ed that they both knew that. Winry had never needed ceremonies or faff, although she deserved it.

“Nothing with big sticky-out diamonds, or anything, okay? They’d just get scuffed or caught in things when I’m working.” She informed him. Ed nodded, filing the information away. He wondered if he should talk to Pinako about the right kind of ring to get. “And… we should make sure to write to Alphonse and Mei as soon as possible so they’ve got lots of time to get back to the country for the wedding. And also Fuery, we should write to Fuery and let them know your old team will need to get some time off, so we should set a date and let them all know and -”

Ed wasn’t sure whether what was bubbling in his stomach was delightedness or dread, but it was overwhelming all the same. He kissed her quickly to quiet her babbling and stroked a thumb over her cheek affectionately as he whispered in to her lips.

“Let me handle Al and… and the team. For now, you start thinking of what time of year you want to marry, and pick up some bridal magazines of something, and don’t get swept away with it all.” He ordered.

Winry wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in for another kiss.

“I love you.” She told him sweetly.

Ed chewed on his tongue for a moment.

“I… yeah.” He said, “You too.”

* * *

Ed bought her a ring with three little diamonds that were inlaid in to the gold band and didn’t stick out at all, so that they wouldn’t catch on the intricate parts of the Automail she created. She would still take it off regularly when she performed surgeries, for example, but it cut down on the amount of time she would have to leave it off. He hadn’t asked Pinako for help in the end, mostly because if he had telephoned her he could imagine her excited response at her granddaughter getting married, and for some reason he wasn’t ready to face that. Instead he had gone in to a small jewellery store on the outskirts of Rush Valley and explained the type of ring he needed to the clerk, who pointed him in the right direction. He’d guessed at her size, and although Winry had been delighted with the style of it, it turned out it was far too large and he’d had to take it back for re-sizing. Which all added up to Winry not actually having a ring on her finger until two weeks after he had actually proposed.

At no point had she complained or rushed him, though. Instead the moment he slipped the band on to her finger she had excitedly told him she was off to ring her grandmother, and that he should write to Alphonse. She wanted to marry in the summer, and Alphonse and Mei would need plenty of time to get home. He penned the letter that very afternoon, stating the wedding would be in summer, although they hadn’t set a specific date.

Winry informed Pinako, and excitedly told Edward how she was thinking of asking a couple of local friends to be bridesmaids. Ed told her that of course Alphonse would be his best man, and they discussed at length about colour schemes and cake ideas, and the what, when, where and why of it all. Ed found he too was beginning to get excited watching Winry mark out seating plans and flip through dress patterns. A month later they had set a date in August and confirmed it with the vicar of the church in Risembol, where they had decided to marry, and Winry had drawn up a hefty stack of invitations to the few remaining family members they had, and the many friends they had made along the way.

Edward had originally written to Alphonse in January, and in February he had received a reply that had way too many exclamation marks, and a promise that he would return as soon as a date was set. Edward wrote back mid February that they had planned for August, and at the beginning of March he received a reply that they would try and get to Amestris for July. Time slipped away from them quickly, and in June Winry pulled out the stack of invites again and asked him to take them down to the post office when he got a moment.

Most of their friends had already been informed via letter or telephone, but there were a few that the invite would come as a surprise to, and Edward flipped through the pile curiously to see who they might be. Towards the back he came across a set addressed in Central, and realised with a jolt these were the invites for his old team.

All of a sudden his excitement for the wedding evaporated. He still felt he wasn’t ready to face his old team. It wasn’t just about Mustang, although he _was_ a huge part of it, but the entire team had thought of him as something special – and although he was getting his life back on track, what could he really show for himself besides heading towards marrying his childhood best friend? Even that was such a cliché that someone like Mustang, brilliant as he was (and Ed would never tell him that to his face) would laugh at the idea of it. He wasn’t special any more, and it had never been more obvious than going back to his home-town to marry the girl who was a comfort to him, and lead an unassuming life as a country-bumpkin.

It wasn’t that he was unhappy with his choices – it just wasn’t choices he wanted the people from a more action-packed part of his life to be involved with.

Besides, was it even fair to invite a blind man to _witness_ his nuptials? And if he invited the rest of the team and not Mustang then word would surely get back to him and he would feel slighted, which Ed had no intention of facilitating. Sure, he hadn’t seen or spoken to any of them for a while, but being busy and not having time for the team was very different to specifically not inviting one person to something everyone else would be invited to.

It was a political mine-field! No wonder people said weddings were stressful.

But then on the other hand, Winry wanted to invite them. Edward specifically remembered when she had drawn up the invitations her talking of seeing the Central crowd again, and how excited she was to share the day with them. He couldn’t be the reason why she would be disappointed on her wedding day. It simply wasn’t right.

He wandered down to the post office later that afternoon whilst Winry was fitting the leg for her client in Garfiel’s shop, and entered the place with a heavy heart. He’d sifted through all the invites, and taken out the ones to his old team. He wouldn’t send them just yet, but it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t send them at all. He just needed a few more days to get his head around it, then he could pop back to the post-office and send them off then. Winry didn’t even have to know. A few days wouldn’t hurt anybody when they still had two months to organise themselves. Winry had worried before that the team would need a long time to organise time off, which would be true if they were all still part of the same faction, since the military couldn’t spare an entire team being off at one time, but Ed knew better. They had been split in to different teams during the rebellion against Bradley, and as far as Ed knew they had never come back together. Last he’d heard, through the grapevine of Ling, Hawkeye was working directly under the Fuhrer. Havoc had likely never returned to service, given his legs, and who knew where the rest of the old team had ended up? It was very unlikely Mustang had managed to pull them all back together though, especially given his current project was trade-routes with Xing, and not an overhaul of their own government.

So yeah, he was perfectly justified in giving himself a little more time before he sent off the invites. It wouldn’t hurt anyone, at any rate, he told himself.

He watched the majority of the invites get processed, slipping the last six envelopes in to his pocket, and began the walk home again. When he arrived Winry was just getting out of Garfiel’s shop, and they walked the couple of houses down together as she wiped oil off her hands with a dirty rag, and tucked her blonde hair behind her ears, smearing dark oil over the cartilage there. Ed smirked because he knew she wouldn’t fully wash it off later when she showered, and he would have to take a cloth to them for her. It was incredibly endearing.

“All the invites get off okay?” She asked as the climbed the fire-escape steps to their flat. Ed’s stomach twisted horribly, but he nodded.

“Y-yeah,” He replied, “No issues at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I am ashamed to say after many, many years of writing smut, and of engaging in heterosexual sex, this is actually my first time WRITING heterosexual smut. So I guess sorry if it's bad.
> 
> 2\. A big time jump in this chapter. It's the first story I've done that has a large time-line. Trying to find a way to naturally progress a story six years is fairly difficult, so I hope I am doing an okay job, but I would love some tips from people who write long-timeline fics!


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